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FAMOUS WOMEN OF THE FRENCH COURT. 

By IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND. 
Translated by Thomas Sergeant Perry. 



THE WIFE OF THE FIRST CONSUL. 

THE HAPPY DAYS OF THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE. 

MARIE ANTOINETTE AND THE END OF THE OLD 

REGIME. 
CITIZENESS BONAPARTE. C'n Press.) 
MARIE LOUISE AND THE DECADENCE OF THE 

EMPIRE. (In Press.) 
THE COURT OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. 

(In Press.) 




^-i^ant an 



foincni 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 



AND 



THE END OF THE OLD REGIME 



IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND 



TRANSLATED BY 
THOMAS SERGEANT PERRY 



WITH PORTRAIT 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1890 



^%^ 



,^-\- 

V 



COPYRIGHT, 1890, 
BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introduction . = 1 

CHAPTER 

I. The Birth op the Dauphin ; 13 

II. The Grand Duke Paul at Versailles 21 

III. " The Marriage op Figaro " 31 

IV. GusTAvus III. AT Versailles , 43 

V. "The Barber op Seville" at the Trianon 51 

VI. The Cardinal de Rohan , 60 

VII. Cagliostro 68 

VIII. The Countess de La Motte 76 

IX. The Necklace 86 

X. The Arrest 95 

XL The Trial 104 

XII. The Verdict 115 

XIII. A Picture op Madame Lebrun's 128 

XIV. Madame Elisabeth at Montreuil 135 

XV. Cazotte's Prophecy 150 

XVI. The Beginning of the Revolution 160 

XVII. The Assembly op Notables 168 

XVIII. The Procession of May 4, 1789 181 

V 



vi CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEB PAGE 

XIX. The Opening Session of the States-Genekal . . . 188 

XX. The Death or the Dauphin 196 

XXI. The Advance of the Revolution 201 

XXIL The Departure of the Duchess of Polignac... 213 

XXIII. The Queen and the Marquis of La Fayette . . . 222 

XXIV. Marie Antoinette and the Duke of Orleans . . 230 
XXV. The Banquet of October 1 241 

XXVI. The Fifth of October 246 

XXVII. The Sixth of October 257 

Epilogue 270 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 



THE END OF THE OLD REGIME 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

AND 

THE END OF THE OLD REGIME, 

1781-1789. 

INTRODUCTION. 

THE old regime is drawing to its close ; the hour 
of the great catastrophes is nigh ; soon the deep 
roar of thunder is to be heard ; yet, so far as appears, 
nothing is changed: the splendor of Versailles still 
dazzles every eye by its magnificence; everywhere 
one sees the same life, the same animation, the same 
brilliancy. There are nearly four thousand persons 
in the King's civil household, nine or ten thousand 
in his military household, and at least two thousand 
more in those of his relatives. There is a vast 
accumulation of rich costumes, of uniforms, liveries, 
coaches. How beautiful is the park of Versailles on 
a spring morning, when the chestnuts are in blossom, 
and the sun lights up the spray of the great foun- 
tains! The terrace is crowded with women richly 
dressed, and with men quite as gorgeously arrayed, 
in their knots of ribbons, their lace ruffles, and their 

1 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



yellow, or pink, or sky-blue silk coats. The military 
bands are playing beneath the trees. One may see 
the Swiss Guards in their sixteenth century uniforms, 
with their halberds, ruffs, plumed hats, and full jer- 
kins of various colors; the body-guards with their 
red breeches, huge boots, and blue coats adorned with 
white embroidery. One beholds, too, the crowd of 
courtiers with their attentive, discreet air, with the 
distinction of their gait, speech, and smile, with 
their reverence for etiquette, and their boundless 
courtesy. 

Let us imagine ourselves at the last court balls of 
1786 and 1787. The place is the small theatre be- 
tween the Court of the Princes and the park where 
the southern part of the palace begins. The building, 
which was constructed under Louis XIV., but is now 
destroyed, is thus described by the Count d' Hezec- 
ques in his Memories of a Page, It was fitted out 
with wooden pavilions, which were kept in the house 
of the Menus Plaisirs, and can be set up in a few 
hours. The entrance was in a green grove, adorned 
with statues, and at the end was a billiard room, 
which was a little sombre in color, so that the illu- 
mination shone out with greater brilliancy. To the 
right, small paths lead into the dancing and gaming 
room. One of the doors consists of a great piece of 
plate glass so clear that a Swiss sentinel is posted 
there to warn people from trying to walk through it. 
Marble basins, surrounded with moss and flowers, 
contain water-jets which splash all night, in the bril- 



INTRODUCTION. 



liant blaze of lamps and candles, giving forth an 
agreeable coolness. The guests at these delightful 
balls are the most distinguished, the most attractive 
people of the fascinating society that sets the fashion 
for all Europe. M. Taine thus describes their charms, 
with real enthusiasm, in his noble book. The Origins 
of Contemporary France : " There is not a toilette 
here, not a pose of the head, not a tone of the voice, 
which is not the fine flower of worldly culture, the dis- 
tilled essence of the most exqiiisite products of social 
art. It takes, we are told, a hundred thousand roses to 
produce an ounce of that unique ottar which the kings 
of Persia use. This drawing-room is like that, a minute 
flash of gold and crystal. It contains the substance of 
a human vegetation. To fill it, there was required a 
great aristocracy transplanted into a hothouse and so 
rendered sterile of fruits, though rich in flowers, in 
order that in the royal alembic all its. purified juices 
should be concentrated into a few drops of perfume. 
Its cost is most extravagant, but only in that way are 
delicate perfumes made." 

Up to its last moment, the monarchy was imposing. 
The royal star, before it disappeared beneath the 
horizon, continued to shine in great splendor. Cha- 
teaubriand was presented at court May 19, 1787, and 
he thus describes the occasion: "No one has seen 
anything who has not seen the pomp of Versailles, 
even after the disbanding of the King's former house- 
hold. It is because Louis XIV. is always here. 
Hence a presentation is not a thing of trifling impor- 



MABIE ANTOINETTE. 



tance. A mysterious destiny hangs over the new 
arrival. He is spared that air of scornful protection, 
which with extreme politeness forms the inimitable 
manners of the great nobleman. Who knows whether 
this newcomer may not become the master's favor- 
ite ? " The doors of the King's bedchamber are opened, 
and the King, who has just finished dressing, takes 
his hat from the hand of the first gentleman in wait- 
ing, and comes forth to go to mass. The future au- 
thor of The Martyrs bows. The Marshal de Duras 
pronounces his name, " Sire, the Chevalier de Chateau- 
briand" ; and the famous author, recalling this memory 
of his youth, says : " Vanity of human destiny ! This 
sovereign whom I saw for the first time, this mighty 
monarch, was Louis XYL, then within six years of 
the scaffold ; and this new courtier, at whom he 
scarcely glanced, commissioned to separate bones 
from bones, after having been presented to the gran- 
deur of the descendant of Saint Louis, on proving his 
titles to nobility, was to be again presented to his 
ashes, on proving his fidelity — a twofold tribute of 
respect to the twofold royalty of the sceptre and of 
the martyr's palm." 

After his presentation to Louis XYL, Chateau- 
briand passed through the gallery to meet the Queen 
returning from chapel. "She soon came in sight," 
he says, " surrounded by a large and brilliant suite ; 
she made a dignified courtesy, appearing enchanted 
with life. And those fair hands, which then held so 
gracefully the sceptre of so many kings, were, before 



INTRODUCTION. 



they were tied by the executioner, to patch the rags 
of the widow, the prisoner of the Conciergerie." 

Unhappy Queen ! The moment was drawing nigh 
when she was to be abandoned even by her courtiers. 
At the last court ball in 1788, no one wanted to dance 
with her. Madame Vig^e-Lebrun, who was present, 
speaks of the festivity most sadly : " The box in 
which I happened to be was so near the Queen's that 
I could overhear what she said. I saw her in some 
agitation inviting the young men of the court to 
dance, among them, M. de Lameth, who belonged to 
a family which she had overwhelmed with deeds of 
kindness, and others, who refused her ; so that it was 
impossible to make up the sets for the square dances. 
The indecorous conduct of these gentlemen struck 
me ; their refusal seemed to me to be a sort of revolt. 
The Revolution was approaching ; it broke out the 
next year." 

In 1787 Marie Antoinette had already noticed 
threatening symptoms. In the Secret Corresj)07id- 
ence, published by M. de Lescure, there may be read, 
under date of February 19 : " Last week the Queen 
was much applauded when she reached the Opera ; 
and, as usual, she made courtesies to the public. 
At that moment a hiss was heard from the crowd. 
Although this piece of insolence must have come 
from a madman or a wretch, it much distressed the 
Queen." Certainly he was right, for that hiss at 
the Opera was the first sound of the most horrible 
tempest. 



6 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

In the same Correspondence^ under the date of Au- 
gust 1, 1787, we find : " The name of Madame Deficit 
is given to a great lady who has made certain sacri- 
fices to the nation which was in no way authorized 
to demand them." And, September 25, " ' Athalie ' 
was recently played in Paris. The public applauded 
with as much warmth as indecorum these four 
lines : — 

" * Confound in her designs this cruel queen ! 
Deign, deign, my God, on Mathan and on her 
To let fall that spirit of imprudence and error. 
The fatal foreteller of the ruin of kings.' " 

The moment chosen for this ill-will towards Marie 
Antoinette was the very one when she had abandoned 
these faults and had become serious and exemplary. 
We find, again, in the Secret Correspondence^ De- 
cember 5, 1786, this sign of growing gravity ; " The 
Revolution, which has been so long prophesied at our 
court, is beginning to show itself. The Queen turns 
a cold shoulder to all the young men who had as- 
sumed an air of familiarity which seemed justified by 
the destruction of all etiquette. She admits to her 
society only reasonable and decent men, if such there 
be. All the high ofiicers and servants of the King 
and the Princes are to be obliged to live at Versailles. 
In this way, CEil-de-Boeuf and this gallery, which were 
deserted, will be crowded again. It is supposed that 
the Queen is becoming devout. She would thus 
follow her mother's example at an early age." 

So long as Marie Antoinette was frivolous and was 



INTRODUCTION. 



guilty, not of real faults, but of imprudent actions, she 
was the recipient of general flattery and admiration. 
But so soon as she became absolutely irreproachable, 
she was overwhelmed with harsh judgments and ill- 
will. Such is the world's justice ! 

The same thing may be said about the nobility. 
As M. Taine has justly remarked, never was the aris- 
tocracy so worthy of power as at the moment when 
it was about to lose it. The possessors of privileges 
had become excellent citizens, worthy, enlightened, 
charitable managers. They defended the tax-payers 
from the treasury, suppressed the duty service, multi- 
plied good works, taught the poor, protected agricul- 
ture, directed every reform. 

Turn to the memorials of the nobility prepared in 
the bailiwicks on the eve of the States-General, and 
you will see that they demanded for the French 
people all the civil and political rights which the 
Revolutionists pretend to have wrung from them. 
These great lords, who fought in the war like heroes, 
and at Versailles so well represented the splendors 
of the past, were, in their own homes, the most 
amiable of hosts, the most delicate patrons of letters 
and the arts, the sturdiest supporters of the new 
ideas. They were rich, but they were generous ; 
they were envied by the ungrateful, but noble hearts 
blessed them. 

The Viscountess of Noailles said with much truth : 
" The horror of abuses, the contempt of hereditary 
distinctions, all those feelings with which a sense of 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



tlieir own interest inspired tlie lower classes, acquired 
their first charm from the enthusiasm of the great. 
Those of lively imaginations hoped soon to see their 
wildest dreams come true, or gladly deprived them- 
selves of everything of the nature of an abuse, in the 
simple thought that they should thus attain a moral 
height, which the masses would be generous enough 
to understand and to respect." ^ Going back to 
the Golden Age of the Revolution, she exclaims : 
" Heaven knows how unjust we are to that time ! 
What generosity, loftiness, delicacy, belonged to that 
distinguished society ! How solid was every tie ! 
What respect for sworn fidelity, even in the im- 
worthiest circumstances ! Never has romance so 
manifested itself in life as then. I know it is pre- 
cisely the reproach, and a well-founded reproach, 
that can be made against this society, that it lacked 
moral poise to an extent that left a vagueness peril- 
ous to virtue. But is not that the general spirit of 
the century?" 

The whirl of new ideas, the general animation and 
fervor, made conversation varied, witty, and elo- 
quent. The differences of opinion struck out sparks 
of brilliant wit. The French nobility, though old in 
certain ways, had remained young in others. Yes, 
even when the * old regime was in its agony, it was 
still young in ardor, courage, and hope. It was 
young because it believed in love, and because it did 

1 Life of the Princess of Poix nee Beauveau, by the Viscountess 
of Noailles (born in 1791 ; died in 1851). 



INTRODUCTION. 9 



not know the general disenchantment, the despairing 
scepticism, the disgust with life which are the shame 
and the punishment of decadent society. It was to 
fall, but gracefully, easily, like an ancient gladiator, 
delighted to unite in its last years all its qualities, all 
its charms, as if to make itself missed and to permit 
Prince Talleyrand to be able to say, " No one who 
did not live before 1789 has any idea of the charm 
of life." 

" Gaiety," wrote an English tourist in 1785, " is a 
peculiar quality of the French." This good humor, 
this singular combination of irony and excitement, 
of indifference and enthusiasm, the French nobility 
preserved up to the time of their severest trials. It 
seemed as if, knowing their days were numbered, 
they were anxious to pass them joyfully, to multiply 
their pleasures, their adventures, their emotions, as 
much as possible. To those who prophesied the ap- 
proaching calamities, they answered with an incredu- 
lous smile. As Madame de Genlis said, their feeling 
ing of security amounted to extravagance. 

June 29, 1789, at a meeting of the King's Council 
at Marly, Necker said very innocently (for this so- 
ciety was perhaps even more innocent than refined) : 
"What could be idler than fears about the organi- 
zation of the States-General? They can do nothing 
without the King's assent." Was not the Revolution, 
in their eyes, like a vast lottery in which every one 
imagines that he has a winning ticket ? What could 
happen, thought the nobles, even if the worst should 



10 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

arrive ? A little war, gentle and charming, like that 
of the Fronde. No long campaigns or tedious ma- 
noeuvres. A few sharp thrusts, and fiddles, balls, 
comedies, love affairs, and songs, and, afterwards, 
wise reconciliation, useful reforms, progress, phil- 
anthropy, the triumph of tender souls, the progress 
of humanity ! We shall speak, shouted the lawyers, 
who are always ready to speak ; we shall ascend the 
tribune, we shall become famous and be appointed 
ministers. We shall make money, said the financiers. 
And financiers favor revolutions; for, as a clever 
woman of the time said, discount forms more than a 
third part of a banker's opinions. 

All forms of amusement followed one another with 
giddy rapidity. Fashionable men and women lived 
a double life, now in Paris, now at Versailles. A 
steady stream of carriages with swift horses was 
rolling incessantly from the city of the great King 
to the real capital, that of pleasure and public opin- 
ion. At Versailles etiquette still ruled; in Paris 
there was freedom. There were delightful suppers, 
such as Madame Oberkirch describes: "Without wit, 
without eloquence, without knowledge of the world, 
of good stories, of the thousand trifles which make 
up the news of the day, no one could dream of being 
admitted to these charming gatherings. Only there 
was there any conversation, and it was on the most 
trifling subjects; it was all a mere foam that was 
evaporating fast, leaving no trace behind, but its 
taste was most agreeable. After once tasting it, 



INTEOBUGTION. 11 



everything else seemed flat." There were the plays 
in which politics mingled with literature, and the 
audience was more interesting than the performance. 
There were private theatricals in which the most 
serious professions furnished excellent comedians ; 
many judges took the parts of Crispin and Marcarille. 
Great ladies, actresses, demi-reps, made great show 
of luxury, and without associating together, had yet 
perfect knowledge of one another's deeds and actions. 
Among the fashionable promenades was the Boule- 
vard du Temple, where, especially on Thursday, men 
used to ride ; the large avenue of the Tuileries, and 
besides, to the left of the Palais Royal, another 
equally famous rideway, where good company was 
wont to assemble in gorgeous dress. In summer this 
was a favorite resort after the theatre; the women 
used to carry huge bouquets which, in combination 
with the perfumed powder they put on their hair, ren- 
dered the air most fragrant. There they used some- 
times to sit till two in the morning, listening to harps 
and guitars. Saint Georges would take his violin 
there, and Garat and Alsevedo would sing, giving an 
improvised, open-air concert in the moonlight. The 
French nobility, which was as admirable at a ball as 
on the battle-field, generous with its heart's blood 
and its money, which greeted the first rays of rising 
freedom, was to maintain its dignity to the last. 
Even in prison, even before the court, even on the 
platform of the guillotine, it was to remain what it 
had been, — amiable, courteous, comme ilfaut. Of the 



12 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Conciergerie it was to make a drawing-room ; at the 
end of a corridor in which four candles were burning, 
it was to compose madrigals and songs, and continue 
as gallant, as gay, as graceful as before. Is there 
any need of becoming cross and sullen because you 
are detained by accident in a wretched iiui ? 

Yet, even behind bolts, the women will keep alive 
the holy fire of fashion, the charm of elegance, and 
the prison-court will resemble a flowery terrace set 
in a framework of iron. To quote from Count 
Beugnot, himself a prisoner in the Conciergerie : 
" There misfortune will be treated like a naughty 
child who has to be laughed at, and in fact the 
divinity of Marat, the priesthood of Robespierre, 
the magistracy of Fouquier-Tinville will be loudly 
laughed at, and all will seem to say to the bloody 
gang : ' You may kill us when you please, but you 
can't prevent our being amiable I ' " French nobles, 
you will not only be gentle, you will be courteous 
with death! After knowing how to live, you will 
know how to die, and you will find a way to honor 
the scaffold by leaving upon it your coat-of-arms ! 



L 



THE BIETH OF THE DAUPHINo 

THE most touching thing in the world it is the 
suffering and then the joy of a woman who 
gives birth to a child. Those tortures endured with 
so much courage, the anguish so distressing to the 
husband or the mother, that waiting in which min- 
utes seem like centuries, the solemn moment in which 
the woman seems to hang between hope and death; 
then the ineffable, ecstatic joy, the heavenly rest, that 
sweetest of sounds, the child's first cry, the first look 
the mother gives it ; — what is sublimer than the mys- 
tery of birth, than the living poem of maternal love, 
than this outburst of the deepest and truest feelings 
of nature ? The day for which Marie Antoinette had 
so longed was at last come, and Heaven granted her 
the immense happiness of giving a Dauphin to France 
and to the King. Poor Louis XVL, whose lot was 
soon to be so piteous, with what love one saw his 
happiness ! with what sympathy were regarded the 
tears of joy that bedewed his honest and loyal face ! 

It was October 22, 1781; the whole palace of Ver- 
sailles was agitated by the liveliest emotions. It was 

13 



14 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

one in the afternoon when a Dauphin was born. On 
this occasion there had been abandoned the old bar- 
baric custom of letting a crowd fill the Queen's 
room, and only a few persons had been admitted. 
At first they refrained from telling the Queen that 
it was a Dauphin, lest the excitement should be too 
great for her. She noticed their silence, and sup- 
posed it was a girl. " See how reasonable I am," she 
said; "I don't ask any questions." The King did 
not wish to prolong her uncertainty, and called out, 
" The Dauphin asks leave to enter." At these words 
the tender, — dare I say happy ? yes, for at this 
moment she was, — happy Marie Antoinette lifted 
herself up, held out her arms to the King, and then 
the couple, closely embracing, mingled their tears, 
which were so delicious that the Dauphin lay for 
some moments by their side before they noticed him. 
As a Swede, the Count of Stedingk, said, the 
Queen's ante-chamber was a charming sight. The 
joy was complete; every head was turned, and all 
were alternately weeping and laughing. Men and 
women who were scarcely acquainted found them- 
selves hugging one another. But it was very differ- 
ent when, at two o'clock, the door of the Queen's 
room was thrown wide open and the Dauphin was 
announced! The governess of the royal children, 
the Princess of Guemenee, held the little child in her 
arms. The applause and the clapping of hands made 
their way to Marie Antoinette's chamber, and cer- 
tainly to her heart. An archbishop wanted the 



THE BIBTR OF THE DAUPHIN. 15 

Dauphin to be at once invested with the order of 
the Holy Ghost. "No," said the King; "he must 
first be made a Christian." At three o'clock the 
child was baptized in the chapel of the palace by the 
Grand Almoner, the Cai^dinal de Rohan. He was 
held at the font by the Count of Provence and by 
Madame Elisabeth, who represented the godfathers 
and godmothers, the Emperor Joseph 11. and the 
Princess of Piedmont (Madame Clotilde). In his 
joy, Louis XVI. gave his hand to every one, taking 
every opportunity to say, " My son " or " The Dau- 
phin." In the streets all were talking and embracing 
one another. All classes of society, from the highest 
to the loAvest, seemed to form one happy family. 

Madame Elisabeth's friend, Madame de Bombelles, 
wrote to her husband on the day of the Daupliin's 
birth : " What touched me extremely was the King's 
delight during the baptism ; he was continually look- 
ing at his son and smiling at him. The cries of the 
people who were outside of the chapel at the moment 
the child entered, the happiness expressed on every 
face, moved me so much that I could not keep from 
tears." 

The child's nurse was named Madame Poitrine. 
" She is well named ; for it is enormous, and the 
doctors say her milk is excellent. She is a genuine 
peasant woman, the wife of a gardener at Sceaux. 
She has a voice like a grenadier, swears with the 
greatest readiness ; but that makes no difference, in 
fact, it is an advantage; for nothing surprises or 



16 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

disturbs her, so her milk is not affected. The laces 
and linen given to her did not surprise her. It 
seemed to her very simple ; and she merely asked 
not to be compelled to put powder on her hair, be- 
cause she had never used it ; and she wanted to put 
on a cap worth six hundred francs over her hair, as 
she used to wear her mob-caps. Her voice amuses 
everybody, because she sometimes says very amusing 
things." 

Every one admired the royal child; they even 
adored it. " I saw our little Dauphin this morning," 
Madame de Bombelles wrote again, October 29. 
" He is very well. He is as lovely as an angel ; and 
the enthusiasm of the populace continues the same. 
In the streets one meets nothing but fiddles, and 
singing and dancing. I call that touching ; and in 
fact, I know no more amiable nation than ours." 

The general happiness spread over France, and 
even to foreign parts. Gustavus III., King of 
Sweden, wrote to the Count of Stedingk : " The de- 
tails you sent to me about the delivery of the Queen 
of France gave me infinite pleasure. No one could 
take more interest in it than I do ; and I assure you 
the joy at Drottningholm over the Dauphin's birth is 
as great as it can be at Versailles." 

The different guilds went to pay their respects to 
the King and Queen. When they had entered the 
courtyard of the palace, headed by bands, they 
formed groups, as if they were on the stage. Chim- 
ney-sweeps carried a chimney, on the top of which 



THE BIBTR OF THE DAUPHIN. 17 

they had fastened one of the smallest of their num- 
ber. Chairmen carried a richly gilded chair with a 
nurse and child inside of it. Butchers appeared 
with a huge ox. Locksmiths were beating on an 
anvil. The cobblers had a little pair of boots for the 
Dauphin ; the tailors, a suit of his regimental uni- 
form. But alas ! even at the happiest hours of Marie 
Antoinette's life there is no lack of black presenti- 
ments. There is a note of Shakespearian tragedy in 
her lot. Among the guilds there was a gravedigger's 
scene, in which they appeared with their tools ; for- 
getting the gloomy nature of their duties, they wished 
to take part in the general rejoicing. But at the 
moment when they were passing along the terrace, 
Madame Sophie, the aunt of Louis XVI., had a shiv- 
ering fit, and a few weeks later she was dead. 

When the guilds had all passed by, fifty women 
from the Market, dressed in black, and nearly all 
wearing diamonds, were introduced into the Queen's 
room and had the honor of presenting their congrat- 
ulations. Then came the turn of the fishwomen. 
"Sire," said one of them, "if Heaven owed a son 
to a king who regards his people as his family, our 
prayers and wishes had long demanded one. These 
are at length answered. We are sure that our chil- 
dren will be as happy as ourselves, for this child 
must be like you. You will teach him. Sire, to be 
good and just, like yourself. We take upon ourselves 
the duty of teaching our children how to love and 
respect their king." Then, turning to Marie Antoi- 



18 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

nette, the fishwoman said : " It is so long, Madame, 
that we have loved you without daring to say so, 
that we need all our respect in order not to abuse 
the permission to express it to you." Finally, turn- 
ing to the cradle in which the Dauphin was lyin^, 
" You cannot understand the wishes which we utter 
over your cradle ; but some day perhaps they will be 
told to you ; they limit themselves to seeing in you 
the image of those who have given you life." 

The locksmiths of Versailles accompanied their 
homage to the King with the present of a piece of 
their workmanship. It was a secret lock. Louis 
XVI., who took a great interest in mechanics, wanted 
to find out the secret for himself; he did so, and 
at the moment when he found out the combination, 
there sprang from the lock a steel dauphin of admi- 
rable workmanship. The King was delighted; he 
said that their present gave him great pleasure, and 
rewarded them handsomely. 

January 21, 1782, the city of Paris gave great fes- 
tivities to celebrate the birth of an heir to the throne. 
January 21 ! Always fateful dates ! Always mys- 
terious forebodings ! What was to happen exactly 
eleven years later to a day? But why think of the ter- 
rible future ? Let us drive away gloomy thoughts I Is 
it not right that Marie Antoinette, with such trials and 
tortures before her, should have her hour of glory 
and triumph? What grace and charm masked the 
beautiful and august Queen on that day when Provi- 
dence seemed to bless her, and France was uttering 



THE BIRTH OF THE DAUPHIN. 19 



one long cry of love, admiration, and devotion ! What 
success ! What applause I What ovations ! How 
majestic she was when she appeared beneath the portal 
of Notre Dame, or when she ascended the grand stair- 
case of the H6tel de Ville ! That evening, all Paris 
was illuminated ; the Place Yend^me, the Place Louis 
XV., the Palais Bourbon, were ablaze with lights. 
The decorations of the H6tel de Ville were magnifi- 
cent with golden vessels filled with lilies, purple 
stuffs, columns, balustrades, and bands of music. The 
fireworks represented the Temple of Hymen. Before 
the door France was to be seen receiving from on 
high the august child just born. 

Ah ! let the Queen ^ enjoy in peace these last mo- 
ments of happiness 1 Let her still believe in the 
fidelity and kindness of her subjects ! Let her still 
nourish the illusion that she rules over a loyal and 
chivalrous people ! She is at the su.mmit of her 
glory ; but there are certain heights which cannot be 
reached without peril. Li happiness, as in the at- 
mosphere, there are certain limits which mortals may 
not pass. Whoever has been the object of enthusi- 
astic praise and intoxicating flattery must await crit- 
icism and abuse. Kings and queens, geniuses and 
great artists, suffer this same fate. All happiness 
and glory must be paid for. Whoever yoji may be, 
if you are the idol of the multitude, tremble ; unhap- 
piness is not far off : after the palms, Calvary ! 

How false is joy! What is blinder than hope? 
This Dauphin, whose cradle is girt with such cries 



20 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

of love, so many blessings and songs, is to have a 
gloomy fate. His agony will coincide with that of 
the French Monarchy. A child, weak and doomed, 
like the royalty he represents, he will be plunged 
into sadness and overwhelmed with grief. His suf- 
ferings will plunge his mother into despair, and will 
throw a black veil over a period already so gloomy. 
He is to die at the moment when the States-General 
are opened, which were so fatal to the crown ; and 
the public, in its revolutionary fervor, will pay but 
little attention to the death of this child, whose birth 
called forth such transports. The deputies of the 
Third Estate will have no respect for the tears of 
Louis XVI. They will want to talk business with 
him in the first hours of his. mourning; and the un- 
happy father, wounded by this lack of tact and such 
indifference to the holiest feelings, will not be able 
to refrain from exclaiming with bitterness, "These 
gentlemen then have no children I " 



II. 

THE GRAND DUKE PAUL AT VERSAILLES . 

BEFORE considering the calamities, it is pleas- 
ant to linger over the period of the last illu- 
sions — the time when, as the Count of Segur said, the 
old social edifice was undermined, although there was 
no slightest sign of its approaching fall; when the 
change of manners was unperceived, because it had 
been gradual ; when the court etiquette was the 
same, and one saw only the same throne, the same 
names, the same distinctions of rank, the same forms. 
The royal star, like a setting sun, still lit the horizon 
with magnificent brilliancy. France was more influ- 
ential than ever. The Revolution was only lying 
latent ; and the aristocracy, like a man smitten with 
mortal illness, but thinking himself in perfect health, 
was never fuller of charm, of elegance, of fire. 

Let us glance at the court at a m^oment when, for 
an extraordinary occasion, it appeared in all its glory 
and in a sort of coquetry exhibited its full splendor. 
The richest uniforms, the costliest dresses, made their 
appearance ; the most precious jewels issued from 
their cases. Louis XVI. himself desired pomp, and 

21 



22 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

remembered that he was the heir of Louis XIV. 
Marie Antoinette was in full radiance. 

The son and future successor of Catherine the 
Great, the Grand Duke Paul, who, travelling under 
the name of the Count du Nord, Avith his wife, Marie 
Fedoroyna, Princess of Wiirtemberg, Montbdliard, 
had just reached France to visit Louis XVI. May 19, 
1782, he went to Versailles incognito and heard mass, 
hiding in a tribune of the palace chapel, took part in 
a procession of Knights of the Holy Ghost, and re- 
turned to Paris in the evening, full of enthusiasm for 
the court, the dresses, the ceremonies, and especially 
for the Queen's beauty. 

Th-e next day the Grand Duke and the Grand 
Duchess, accompanied by the Russian Ambassador, 
Prince Bariatinsky, and all the members of the 
Embassy, made their formal entrance into Versailles. 
Louis XVI. was waiting for them in his large study 
(the bedchamber of Louis XIV.). "Sire," said the 
Grand Duke as he approached the King, "how happy 
I am to see Your Majesty ! That was my main object 
in coming to France. My mother, the Empress, will 
envy me this happiness ; for in that, as in all things, 
our feelings are the same." 

Then' the Grand Duke entered the Dauphin's 
apartment. He called him a very fine child, kissed 
him several times, and asked many questions of his 
governess, the Princess of Guemen^e. "Madame," 
he said to her, " speak very often to tlie Dauphin of 
to-day's visit; remind him of the attachment I prom- 



THE GRAND DUKE PAUL. 23 

ise him in his cradle ; let it be a pledge of a lasting 
alliance and union between our countries." 

The same day there was a state dinner in the hall 
of the Grand Convert, and after dinner a concert in 
the di^awing-room of Peace. The palace was illu- 
minated as on the days of levee. A thousand lights 
hung from the ceiling, and candelabra holding forty 
candles were set over each pier-table. 

The Grand Duchess had brought with her to 
France a young lady belonging to the Alsatian 
nobility, the Baroness d'Oberkirch (who left the 
delightful Memoirs). Since she was not a Russian, 
she could not be presented either by the Grand Duch- 
ess or by the Russian Ambassador; but the Qiieen 
sent a footman to the Baroness to invite her to the 
concert, without the formality of a presentation. She 
said to the Grand Duchess, " I should have been very 
unkind if I had deprived you of your friend when 
I was anxious, on the other hand, to make everything 
pleasant for you." Then turning to Madame Ober- 
kirch, she said: "You are very fortunate, Madame, 
to have so illustrious a friend ; I really envy you, but 
I cannot help envying, too, the Countess du Nord the 
possession of such a friend as she says that you are." 
Marie Antoinette spoke to the Baroness d'Oberkirch 
five or six times during the concert. "You come 
from a region," she said to her, " which I found on 
my way here very beautiful and very loyal ; I shall 
never forget that it was there I received the first 
greetings of the French. It was there that I was 
first called Queen." 



24 MAUIE ANTOINETTE. 

Madame Campan tells us that Marie Antoinette, 
who did the honors of Versailles to her Russian 
guests with such amiable and attractive majesty, was 
very much frightened before she went into the room 
in which she was to dine with the illustrious trav- 
ellers. She asked for a glass of water and said it 
was harder to play the part of a queen before other 
sovereigns and future monarchs than with her own 
courtiers. But she soon overcame her timidity, and 
was all grace and charm, inspiring every one with her 
brilliancy. 

May 23, an opera was given in the great theatre of 
Versailles, " that hall which by its shape and the 
richness of its decorations and its gilding, looked like 
a fairy palace. The opera chosen was ' Aline ; or, the 
Queen of Golconda,' which was taken from a short 
story of the Chevalier de Boufflers, to whom, it seems, 
something of the sort had really happened. The 
scenery was new and remarkably lifelike. One would 
gladly have been Aline, to rule over such a country." 

June 6, Marie Antoinette gave a grand festival at 
the Little Trianon. In the theatre, a perfect gem, 
was played " Z^mire and Azer," by Gretry. There was 
a display of diamonds which dazzled every eye ; then 
after the opera, there was a supper, with three tables, 
and a hundred places at each one. The Grand Duch- 
ess wore on her head a little bird of precious stones, 
so brilliant that it was almost impossible to look at 
it ; it was set to swinging while it beat its wings over 
a rose. That evening Madame d'Oberkirch was try- 



THE GBAND DUKE PAUL. 25 

ing for the first time a little arrangement which was 
very fashionable, although tolerably uncomfortable. 
It consisted of little flat bottles, curved to follow the 
shape of the head, and containing a little water in 
which lay the ends of the flowers worn in the hair, 
thus retaining their freshness. " That device," she 
said, " did not always succeed, but when it did, it was 
charming. This look of spring on the head, amid 
powdered snow, was most striking." After supper, 
they all walked in the gardens. Fireworks lent a 
magic glow to the trees, the plants, and the lake. 
The green glass-plots became red, blue, and yellow 
in turn. A lantern was hung in every shrub. A 
perfect summer night gave charm and poetry to 
the entertainment. The illuminations on the earth 
rivalled with the moon and stars above. A band of 
music hidden in the greenery filled the enchanted 
garden with sweet sounds. Marie Antoinette, in all 
her splendor, appeared like a goddess. 

June 8, there was a ball at Versailles in the Gal- 
lery of the Mirrors. This gallery, which is seventy- 
three metres long, ten metres and forty centimetres 
broad, and thirteen metres high, with its full arch 
vault decorated throughout by Lebrun, with its 
seventeen arched windows opposite which were 
arches all -filled with mirrors, made a wonderful 
place for a ball. There were abundant chandeliers, 
and candelabra, and lamps. The King made his 
entrance from the drawing-room of War, the Queen 
hers from that of Peace. On these occasions, nobles 



26 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

and ladies made it a point of honor to appear in as 
grand dress as possible. The French nobility moved 
to and fro in a most brilliant procession, and the for- 
eigners who were present were amazed at its incom- 
parable splendor. 

At the ball of June 8, the Grand Duke uttered 
one of those happy phrases which won for him much 
reputation during his stay in France. Louis XVI., 
who was surrounded by a throng of courtiers, among 
whom was the Russian prince, complained of being 
incommoded by the crowd. Then, when every one 
was intimidated by this remark of the King's, the 
Grand Duke said, " Sire, excuse me ; I have become 
so thoroughly a Frenchman, that like them I thought 
I could not get too near Your Majesty." He danced 
with the Queen. Marie Antoinette, who was then 
in the full flower of her beauty, had never been 
more gracious or more imposing. In the course 
of the ball she said to the Baroness d'Oberkirch, 
with her customary kindliness : " Speak a little 
German to me, that I may find out if I still remem- 
ber it. Now I only know the language of my new 
country." The Baroness spoke a few words of Ger- 
man; the Queen pondered for a few seconds, and 
then went on, " Ah ! I am delighted to hear German 
again ; you speak it, Madame, like a Saxon, with no 
Alsatian accent, which surprises me. German is a 
fine language ; but French, it seems to me, when I 
hear my children speaking, the sweetest language in 
the world ! " 



THE GRAND DUKE PAUL. 27 

June 9, there was a grand review of the French 
Guards, at the Champ de Mars, in honor of the Grand 
Duke. The aged Marshal de Biron marched at the 
head of this fine regiment, which was always a favor- 
ite of the city. The Parisians, who always delighted 
in military displays, were beside themselves with 
joy, and full of delight and admiration of the French 
and Russian uniforms. They drank, sang, and danced 
as if they were at the Porcherons. There was no 
limit to the applause and merry-making. 

The next day the Grand Duke and the Grand- 
Duchess went to Chantilly, where the Prince of 
Conde gave them a magnificent reception. "Chan- 
tilly," says Madame d'Oberkirch, "is the most beau- 
tiful place in the world. The lakes, the woods, the 
srardens, are delisfhtful ; the naiads at the fountains 
have quite the air of the court, and the sandy roads 
in the forest are a thousand times more charming 
than those of a flower-garden. The princes of the 
House of Conde have always been grand and chiv- 
alrous, and, too, I know not exactly why, they have 
always been more popular with the nobility than 
their elders, the Princes of Orleans. The Prince of 
Conde and the Duke of Bourbon have a large suite 
of gentlemen, all famous for bravery and loyalty. 
The intimates of the Palais Royal, on the other hand, 
are held in slight esteem and honor, and are not 
received anywhere else. They are evil company for 
a young man ; they are a bad sign. The Count du 
Nord made some just and profound remarks on the 



28 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

subject ; he said, speaking of the Duke of Chartres : 
' The King of France is very tolerant ! If my mother 
had a cousin like him, he would not stay long in 
Russia.' " 

Revolutionary ideas were beginning to get a foot- 
hold at the Palais Royal, while Chantilly was a sort 
of sanctuary of the monarchical faith. The Grand 
Duke Paul was much pleased with this charming 
residence, when the Prince of Conde, a model of 
courtesy, received him in great pomp. There were 
two dinners at the castle ; the table was covered with 
an inexhaustible supply of gold and silver plate. 
After each course, the servants, without noise or con- 
fusion, threw all these magnificent vessels out of the 
window. But nothing was lost: precious vessels, 
jugs, and dishes fell into the water of the moats, 
whence they were taken out in large nets. At the 
play, the back of the stage opened, disclosing the 
wood, fields, fountains, and lawn, where Vestris, as 
Zephh% was dancing on the grass. In the evening, 
supper was served in the hamlet, a collection of huts 
like those on- the stage of the opera, in the middle of 
an English garden. They passed through the Isle of 
Love, exactly like one of Watteau's pictures ; there 
was a statue there of a cupid holding a burning heart. 
On the pedestal wa^ carved this inscription, which is 
thoroughly in the taste of the time : — 

" Offering but a heart to Beauty, 
As naked as Truth ; 
Unarmed, like Innocence ; 



Tim GRAND DUKE PAUL. 29 

Wingless, like Constancy, — 

Such was Love in the Golden Age : 

We find him not, but we still seek him." 

A pavilion had been constructed in the grove, 
and on the top was placed a band, which could not 
be seen below, and the music seemed to come from 
the skies. 

Mademoiselle de Cond^, who was then twenty-five 
years old, who had been but two years out of the 
convent, and was soon to take the veil, helped her 
father to do the honors at Chantilly to the illustrious 
foreigners. She was a very intelligent woman, of 
great beauty, and as worthy as she was beautiful. 
She had every gift and talent ; she sang, played the 
harpsichord, painted, and composed poetry. The 
Grand Duchess said that, next to the Queen, the 
woman who best pleased her at court, the woman 
whom she would have wanted for a friend, was 
Mademoiselle de Conde. On leaving, the Russian 
Princess was presented with a bouquet by a pretty 
boy : this boy was the Duke of Enghien, later the 
victim of Vincennes. 

The festivities at Chantilly made a great deal of 
talk, for there had been a greater show of the luxury 
and magnificence of the old regime than even at Ver- 
sailles. The Parisians said: "The King received 
the Count du Nord like a friend ; the Duke of Orleans, 
like a private citizen; the Prince of Conde, like a 
sovereign." 

The son of the great Catherine had much success 



30 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

in France, where all the wise heads perceived the 
advantages of an alliance with Russia. Grimm said, 
speaking of the Grand Duke: "At Versailles he 
seemed to know the court of France as well as his 
own. In the artists' studios, especially in those of 
Greuze and Houdin, he showed great familiarity 
with art, and expressed intelligent admiration. In 
our schools and academies he made it clear by his 
praise and questions that there was no form of talent 
or of work which did not interest him, and that he 
had long known all the men whose abilities or vir- 
tues had honored their time and their country. His 
conversation, and all his remarks which have been 
repeated, announce not merely a delicate and culti- 
vated intelligence, but also an exquisite feeling for 
the finest points of our language." 

The Grand Duke and the Grand Duchess left Ver- 
sailles June 19, 1782, to return to Russia. As they 
were leaving, the Chevalier du Coudray addressed 
them in these lines : — 

" By your agreeable presence 
You have fulfilled all our wishes. 
By your departure, your absence, 
Princes, you arouse our keenest regrets. 
Such are now the farewells of France ! 
You ought to stay, or you ought never to have come." 



III. 

"THE MAREIAGB OF FIGAEO." 

DURING the stay of the Grand Duke Paul in 
France, Beaumarchais had done his best to 
interest the Russian prince in the lot of the " Mar- 
riage of Figaro." This play, which had been written 
six or seven years before, was famous before it was 
acted, and in spite of his untiring efforts, the author, 
skilful as he was, could not get permission to have it 
played. Against him he had the King, the magis- 
trates, the Lieutenant of Police, Keeper of the Seals. 
Louis XVI., after reading the manuscript, had said : 
"It is detestable. The Bastille would have to be 
destroyed to prevent dangerous consequences from 
the performance of such a play. This man turns to 
ridicule everything which should be respected in a 
government." "Then it won't be played?" asked 
Marie Antoinette. "No, of course not," answered 
the King ; " you may be sure of that." 

Well, even after this statement of the King's had 
become known there were many willing to bet that 
the play would nevertheless be acted, so thoroughly 
known were the fickleness and feebleness of the 

31 



82 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

authorities. Beaumarchais had said in the piece 
that only little men were afraid of little writings. 
Many great lords, who were averse to passing for 
little men, felt obliged ardently to defend the " Mar- 
riage of Figaro." The Baron de Breteuil and all 
the members of the society of the Polignacs Avere 
among the warmest defenders of the play. The 
manuscript was handed about in high society, and 
the most distinguished people touched with rever- 
ence the pages fastened with pink ribbons. The 
privilege of reading the " Marriage " was much 
sought after by fashionable people, and those who 
were fortunate enough to have read it were much 
envied. 

The Grand Duke Paul was one of this number; 
he thought the play very amusing, and Catherine II. 
offered to have it brought out in Russia. But Beau- 
marchais, whose course has been so well described by 
M. de Lom^nie in his excellent book, " Beaumar- 
chais et son temps," in spite of all his zeal and the 
influence of his friends, could not secure the removal 
of the prohibition which forbade its performance. 
June 12, 1783, he came very near succeeding by sur- 
prise. By means of a tacit sufferance, due to the 
protection of the Count of Artois, he had been able 
to order a rehearsal of the play at the theatre of 
Menues Plaisirs ; that is to say, in the King's own 
theatre. Tickets had been distributed bearing a pic- 
ture of Figaro in his dress of an Andalusian barber. 
The carriages were beginning to arrive. 



" THE MABBIAGE OF FIGABO:' 33 

The Count of Artois was on his way from Versailles 
to Paris, to see this long and impatiently awaited 
rehearsal, when the Duke of Villequier came to tell 
him that it would not take place, that thfe King had 
forbidden it. It has been asserted that Beaumarchais 
exclaimed in an outburst of wrath : " Well, gentle- 
men, my play can't be acted here, it seems, and I 
take my oath that it shall be played — perhaps in 
the very choir of Notre Dame." This prophecy was 
not to be fulfilled to the letter, but the end of the 
eighteenth century was to see something still more 
scandalous in the choir of Notre Dame, — a prostitute 
enthroned upon the high altar, and receiving adora- 
tion as the Goddess of Reason. 

Beaumarchais, this forerunner of the Revolution, 
this man of intrigues and strife, this many-sided crea- 
ture, — watchmaker, musician, ship-owner, financier, 
pleader, comic author, — this immoral moralist, in 
spite of his pretence of regenerating the world, this 
bold publicist, distinctly modern in his loud ways 
and his fondness for advertising himself, was he 
not the type of the new society? An intelligent 
observer might have understood that the jingle of 
the fool's bells would soon be followed by the sound 
of the tocsin, and before long the Figaros of the time 
would change their satin and velvet jackets for the 
carmagnole. 

But society, in its giddiness and thoughtlessness, 
cared only for pleasure. Confident, joyous, full of 
life, fancying itself strong and renewed, it regarded 



34 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

serious men as pedants and liked to see itself laughed 
at. To aninse itself at its own, expense, to hiss its 
image on the stage, seemed a charming idea ! Were 
not the noblemen of the time of Louis XYI. like the 
flagellants of the court of Henri III., who flogged 
themselves as they walked in processions ? The 
deeper their scars, the greater their happiness. i-What 
awaited the old regime was not illness, but suicide; 
a merry suicide, accompanied with jest and song, 
preceded by witty speeches, biting epigrams, and 
suppers in which abundant champagne should flow..) 
Nothing amused the nobles like a satire on nobil- 
ity. The more they lived on privileges, the louder 
they denounced abuses. Voltaire had admirers 
among the clergy. Beaumarchais himself, with all 
his marvellous intelligence, had no idea pf the full 
significance of his attacks or of the importance of his 
tplay, which was not an amusement, but an'^ event. 
He no more desired the fall of the throne than the 
overthrow of the altar. At heart he was a monarchist, 
and he would not have been pleased to see his Figaro 
turn republican. Cold water and black bread had 
no charms for him, and he was one of those who, 
tyrants for tyrants, preferred the red heels to the 
red caps. He did not have the tastes of a dema- 
gogue ; possibly he wrote revolutionary literature, as 
M. Jourdain spoke prose, v without knowing it. 

Nevertheless, lords and ladies were intriguing to 
have the play brought out. September 26, 1783, one 
of the leaders, of the society of tlie Little Trianon, 



, " THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO:' 35 

a friend of the Duchess of Polignac, the Count de 
Vaudreuil, succeeded in having it played at his castle 
of Gennevilliers^ before three hundred persons, by 
the- actors of the Comedie Fran§aise. The Count 
of Artois and the Duchess of Polignac were among 
the spectators. If we may trust Madame • Vigde- 
Lebrun, Beaumarchais was beside himself : " When 
some one complained of the heat, he did not wait 
to have the win'dows opened, but thrust his stick 
through the panes, so that after the play it was said 
that he had hit out in two ways." 

The amiable Louis XVI. let himself be carried 
away by- the general enthusiasm. He was assured 
that the play- had been much cut ; that it was no 
longer dangerous, and at last consented to its per- 
formance. He imagined that it would have no suc- 
cess, but he was sadly mistaken ; never did a comedy 
enjoy such a triumph. 

The first performance was in Paris, April 27, 1784, 
in the theatre of the Comedie Fran^aise, now the 
Od^on. There was the wildest s-truggle for tickets. 
Nobles applied for a place in the claque. Grandees 
awaited their turn in the long line. Women of the 
highest rank took their place, in the early morning, 
in the actresses' boxes, breakfasting and dining there, 
putting themselves under their protection, in the 
hope of entering among the first. The guards were 
swept aside, the doors burst open, the barriers torn 
down, people smothered ; nothing was lacking to the 
author's glory. He had just been dining with an 



36 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

amiable priest, the Abbe de Calonne, a brother of 
the minister, whom he had invited by this note : — 

" Come ! come ! My Andalusian barber cannot cele- 
brate his marriage without your official bond. Like 
sovereigns, he will invite by placards twelve thousand 
persons to his nuptials. Will they be happy? I do 
not know. This child was conceived in joy. I hope 
he may be born without suffering. I already feel 
the first pains, and I have had a wretched time hith- 
erto. I shall need consolation and very spiritual aid 
at the moment of the crisis. I expect them from 
you and from another priest (the Abbe Sabathier) in 
a very dark corner. Venite, abhati, maledicemus de 
auctore ; but above all, let us laugh at my griefs : 
that is all I ask. I salute you, honor you, and love 
you." 

In a narrow, close box, between the two priests, 
Beaumarchais examined the audience with great 
satisfaction. More than one duchess, as Grimm said, 
would have been glad to find in the galleries, where 
ladies never went, a little footstool, by the side of 
Mesdames Duth^, Carlin, etc. The playhouse was 
most brilliantly lit by a new method ; the audience 
was noisy and well disposed. When the naval hero, 
the Bailiff de Suff'ren, entered, there was a round of 
applause, and another, a moment later, when the 
charming actress, Madame Dugazon, appeared. 

The performance began at half-past fi^ve, and was 
not over till ten. At that time a play that lasted 
four and a half hours was something unheard of. 



" THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO:' 37 

Contrary to the usual custom, there was no short 
play before the long one. Was not the " Marriage of 
Figaro " enough to satisfy the general curiosity ? Its 
success was enormous. As La Harpe has said, " It 
is easy to conceive of the joy and delight of the 
public which found a charm in amusing itself at the 
expense of the authorities, and consented to be ridi- 
culed on the stage." Sainte-Beuve has said, " The 
old society would not have so well deserved its fate, 
if it had not been there that evening, and a hundred 
successive evenings, in raptures over the merry, wild, 
indecent, insolent mockery of itself, and if it had 
not taken so grand a part in its own mystification." 
Beaumarchais himself said, "There is something 
more amazing than my play ; that is, its success." 

The actors and actresses outdid themselves. Every 
word told ; every bit of satire was received with con- 
tinual applause. The public recognized itself in this 
picture of Figaro : " Never out of temper, always in 
good humor, devoting the present to joy, and caring 
as little for the future as for the past, lively, gener- 
ous! generous — " 

" As a thief ! " says Bartholo. " As a lord," says 
Marceline. 

There was great delight among the audience at 
this definition of a courtier : — 

" Figaro. I was born to be a courtier. 
" Suzanne. I am told it is a difficult profession. 
^^ Figaro. Receive, take, and ask; there's the secret in three 
words." 



38 . MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

This reflection, which was also a just one, was re- 
ceived with laughter : — 

" The Count. The servants in this house take longer to dress 
than their masters, 

'' Figaro. It's because they have no valets to help them." 

Here is an intelligent remark on the chances an 
official has for promotion : — 

" The Count. With character and intelligence, you may some 
day rise in the office. 

^^ Figaro. Intelligence a help to advancement? your lordship, 
is laughing at mine. Be commonplace and cringing, and one 
can get anywhere." 

And after this keen remark is a picture of diplo- 
macy drawn by the clear-sighted barber : " To pre- 
tend to be ignorant of what every one knows, and to 
know what every one else does not know, to under- 
stand what nobody comprehends, not to hear what 
every one hears, and, above all, to be able to do the 
impossible ; often to have for the secret one must 
hide the fact that there is none ; to lock one's self up 
to cut quills, and to seem deep when one is only, as 
they say, empty and hollow ; to play a part ill or 
well, to set spies and pension traitors ; to loosen seals, 
intercept letters, and try to dignify the meanness of 
the methods by the importance of the objects, — that's 
politics, or I'm a dead man." 

The diplomatists who were in the audience laughed 
heartily at this description of their occupation. The 
great ladies were delighted at the truth of this re- 



" THE MAEIilAGE OF FIGARO:' 39 

mark of Suzanne's to the Countess: "I have noticed 
how much the habits of society enable ladies to tell 
lies without showing it." They warmly applauded 
this democratic, but very true, remark of the same 
Suzanne : " Do women of my station have vapours ? 
It is a malady of fashionable people, and prevails only 
in boudoirs." The lords, who were always sur- 
rounded with fawning parasites, applauded with en- 
thusiasm Figaro's remark to Basil : " Are you a prince 
to be flattered? Hear the truth, you wretch, since 
.you have not money to recompense a liar." But the 
moment when the enthusiasm turned to delirium, to 
frenzy, when dukes and peers, ministers. Knights of 
Saint Louis, and Knights of the Holy Ghost, were 
transported to the seventh heaven, was when the bold 
barber, suddenly turning into a tribune, said to them 
all : " Because you are a great lord, you fancy your- 
self a great genius ! Nobility, wealth, rank, office, 
— all that makes you very proud ! What have you 
done for all these blessings? You have taken the 
trouble to be born, and nothing else ! " 

The officials in charge of the censorship were par- 
ticularly delighted with this sentence in the same 
monologue : " Provided I don't speak in my writings 
of authority, of religion, of politics, of morality, of 
the officials, of influential bodies, of other spectacles, 
of any one who has any claim to anything, I can 
print anything freely, under the inspection of two 
or three censors." 

The ministers in charge of public duties found 



40 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

much justice in this phrase : ''I was thought of for 
a place, but unfortunately I was suited for it : they 
needed an accountant ; it was a dancer who got it." 
Those in whose drawing-rooms gaming went on felt 
obliged to applaud this : " There was nothing left for 
me to do, except steal ; I made myself banker at a 
faro table ; since then, good people, I sup out, and 
people who are called comme ilfaut o^en their houses 
to me very politely, reserving to themselves three- 
quarters of the profits." 

Napoleon I. said of Beaumarchais's comedy that it 
was the Revolution already in action. This Figaro, 
who said " he had seen everything, done everything, 
dared everything," who declared that " for success, 
tact was better than knowledge " ; this unscrupulous 
barber, who " left smoke for fools to fatten on, and 
shame on the roadside, because it is too heavy a load 
for pedestrians to carry " ; this being, " plying every 
trade to get a livelihood, here a master, there a valet, 
as fortune directs ; ambitious from vanity, hardwork- 
ing by necessity, but idle — with delight ; an orator 
in danger, a poet for amusement, a musician on occa- 
sion, in love by fits and starts " ; this man to whom 
Suzanne, who knows him well, says, " Intrigue and 
money, you are in your proper sphere," — this Figaro 
already talks like a member of the clubs. Jests 
are not enough for him ; he requires long speeches ; 
he makes advances to the pit. The Revolution is 
not remote. 

Is the " Marriage of Figaro " a school of morality ? 



" THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO:' 41 

Not the least in the world. Basil, that singular par- 
ody of the Spanish priest, " that pedant of oratorio," 
as Figaro calls him, has very advanced theories about 
conjugal fidelity. "Is wishing well to a woman, 
wishing ill to her husband ? . . . Of all the serious 
things in the world, marriage is the absurdest." 
Count Almaviva thinks that "love is the romance of 
the heart; pleasure is its history." Does the play 
end with a making over of morals ? Not in the 
least. The upshot is that Figaro, become rich, and 
married to a pretty wife, will never lack friends. 
"I was poor," he says, "and I was despised. I 
showed some wit, and I was hated. A pretty wife 
and a fortune" — and Bartholo shouts out, "Every 
heart will turn to you I" As to the populace, it will 
continue to suffer and to sing, as Brid'oison declares 
in the first lines : — 

" Now, gentlemen, this comedy, 
Which you judge at this moment, 
^ Saving error, paints the life 
Of the good people who hear it. 
When they are oppressed, they curse and cry 
And agitate themselves in every way : 
All ends in songs." 

Almaviva is the old regime ; Figaro, the new society. 
Almaviva is_ corrupt. He regards adultery as a very 
simple, natural thing — on the part of the husband, 
that is. But he is always in good form. Even when 
angry he is a man of good society. Doubtless his 
faults are great; he is "a libertine from idleness, 



42 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

jealous through vanity," yet he is not odious — what 
do I say? he is not ridiculous. Derided in the last 
imbroglio, he yet plays a better part than Figaro, 
who believes that he is a deceived husband before 
the nuptial blessing, and yet, instead of suffering 
from it, finds time for his peroration and the utter- 
ance of maxims. Almaviva will never correct him- 
self. He will still run after Suzanne, but he will 
never betray his king. 

As for Figaro, with his double passion for intrigue 
and for gold, what will become of him? In summing 
up I am tempted to say, with a man who cannot be 
suspected of partiality for the old regime, — with 
Sainte-Beuve : "If we take the two characters as types 
of two contrasted societies, there is room for hesita- 
tion, if we are honest men, and we may prefer, after 
all, to live in a society under the rule of Almavivas, 
than in one which Figaros should govern. . . . Figaro 
is a sort of professor, who gives systematic instruc- 
tions, — I will not say to the middle classes, but to 
upstarts and pretenders of every class, — in inso- 
lence." However, neither the Count nor the barber 
is estimable, and Beaumarchais, who had but a faint 
belief in human virtue, did not paint with glowing 
colors either the past or the future, either the old 
regime or the new. 



IV. 



GUSTAVUS III. AT VERSAILLES. 

JUNE 7, 1784, Gustavus III., who was on his way 
back from Italy, travelling incognito as the Count 
of Haga, reached Paris ; he took up his quarters in 
the rue du Bac, at the house of his ambassador, the 
Baron de Stael, -and the same evening he went to 
Versailles without announcing his visit. Louis XVI. 
was hunting at Rambouillet ; but when he received 
word from a courtier sent by M. de Vergennes, he 
left his brother to sup with the hunters and left at 
once for Versailles. There he dressed quickly and 
appeared before his guest with one red-heeled and 
one black-heeled shoe, a gold buckle and a silver 
buckle. The meeting of the two monarchs was most 
cordial. A magnificent apartment in the palace was 
made ready for the King of Sweden ; but he, desiring 
greater liberty, declined the invitation to stay there, 
and took lodgings in the town. 

At that time the Swedes were called the French 
of the north, and the relations between the courts of 
Versailles and Stockholm were very close. Gustavus 
III. was very popular in France, where he had already 

43 



44 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

been, in the reign of Louis XV. The Liberals were 
very glad to pardon him his coup d'etat in 1772, 
and the philosophers looked upon him as one of their 
followers. The most fashionable ladies loved and 
admired him ; he used to write to them regularly. 
He was well educated, witty, generous, fond of 
luxury, the fine arts, and pleasure, and there was 
about him something very sympathetic, original, and 
attractive. 

In 1784, as during his first visit, all classes of 
French society gave him the warmest welcome. At 
the theatre he was cheered; and if he arrived after 
the piece was begun, the actors would go back and 
commence it anew. At the supper-tables of the 
Countesses of Boufflers and La Marck, of the Duchess 
of La Valliere, of the Princesses of Lamballe and 
Croy, at the Richelieu and d'Aiguillon mansions, he 
was received with the subtlest flattery and the most 
delicate homage. 

Never had the court and the town been more 
attractive. Marie Antoinette was in the flower of 
her beauty and her charm; the year before Louis 
XVI. had signed a glorious peace which established 
the independence of the United States, banished the 
memories of the Seven Years' War, gave credit to the 
arms and diplomacy of France, and showed its hon- 
est and venerable King in the light of a moderate, 
powerful, peace-loving monarch, an arbiter between 
two worlds, a protector of liberty for many races. 
Calonne's financial schemes inspired confidence in 



GUSTAVUS III. AT VEBSAILLES. 45 

inexhaustible wealth and resources. A loan that 
had been skilfully placed gave everything an appear- 
ance of marvellous prosperity. 

All the Memoirs of the time bear witness to the 
security, the confidence, the satisfied national pride, 
the content, enjoyed by France in this year 1784, 
when money was abundant, the crops were most rich, 
optimism was the order of the day, and of all the 
people in the world, the French seemed the most 
devoted to their sovereigns and the easiest to govern. 
Life and hope were full of promise ; a cultivated 
society, tolerant, animated with new ideas, was in 
the enjoyment of liberty, abundance, and pleasure. 
It was a delightful epoch, refined, sentimental, witty, 
when no one believed in the power of evil, and every 
one hoped, through science and philosophy, to over- 
throw ignorance and suffering ; when intellectual 
pleasures were triumphant and every audacious 
thought dared to assert itself! "Adversity," says 
the Count of S^gur in his Memoirs, " is harsh, sus- 
picious, and gloomy ; happiness inspires tolerance and 
confidence. Hence in this period of prosperity there 
was a free scope for plans of reformation, for every 
proposed innovation, for the most liberal thoughts, 
for the boldest schemes." The government did not 
want to make itself feared ; its sole ambition was to 
make itself loved. 

French society was then regarded by all Europe 
as the highest type of wit and politeness. France, 
by its ideas, its literature, its luxury, set the fashion 



46 MARIE ANTOINETTE, 

for the world ; and foreign princes visited it to pay 
homage to a superior civilization. Never had Paris 
been so popular. New quarters had been devoted to 
amusements of all sorts ; the Palais Royal, with its 
many shops and extreme animation, was laying the 
foundations of its fame; the boulevards, which had 
been recently laid out and planted with trees, were 
filling up with rich dwellings, coffee-houses, and 
theatres. Gustavus III. delighted to mingle, unrec- 
ognized, with the crowd of Parisian idlers. Later, 
towards the end of his life, when harassed by per- 
petual conspiracies and by a war in Finland against 
the Russians, he was to be homesick for Paris ; and 
he was heard to say that he wanted to abdicate, in 
order to return thither to live on the boulevards. 

" We live in an age of wonders," exclaimed Bach- 
aumont, in an outburst of enthusiasm. "We were 
proud to be Frenchmen," said the Count of S^gur, 
" and prouder still to be Frenchmen of the eighteenth 
century, which we regarded as the Golden Age 
restored to earth by the new philosophy." The 
fashionable dogma was the unlimited perfectibility 
of man. No more war ! was the general cry. No 
more tyranny ! No more injustice ! No more cus- 
tom-houses ! No more prejudices, or obstacles, or 
errors ! Civilized man, reformed and purified ! So- 
ciety freed ! Humanity triumphant ! The glorious 
and peaceful reign of virtue, justice, and liberty ! 
What might not be expected from a country that 
had produced men like Buffon, Lavoisier, and Mont- 



GUSTAVUS III. AT VEBSAILLE8. 47 

golfier ! What was to be the future of those occult 
sciences which already were filling the public with 
enthusiasm, — such as mesmerism, somnambulism, 
and magnetism? Even Gustavus III., who all his 
life was curious about the supernatural, tried Mes- 
mer's magnetic tub, which so fired the imagination 
of the Parisians, and, as they believed, was destined 
to cure every ill. No longer could it be said that 
there is nothing new under the sun. The novelties 
of science became most startling. The year before, 
the first balloons had risen to the clouds ; and no one 
doubted that navies would ride the air as they rode 
the ocean. Fouquet's motto, "Where shall I not 
ascend?" (^Quo non ascendamf) no longer seemed 
fantastic. Man, who had conquered creation, was 
destined to control the elements. 

June 23, 1784, a fire-balloon was sent up at Ver- 
sailles, in the Minister's courtyard, before the palace, 
in the presence of the King of Sweden. It was 
decorated with the initials of Louis XVI. and Gus- 
tavus III., and with a white brassart, in memory of 
the coup d'etat of 1772. 

The Swedish King made a pilgrimage to Ermenon- 
ville, and in that little temple of philosophy paid a 
somewhat interested homage to the memory of the 
author of the " Social Contract " and the La JVouvelle 
Helo'ise. The admirers of Jean Jacques Rousseau 
announced themselves the admirers of Gustavus III. 

Marie Antoinette entertained the King of Sweden 
at the Little Trianon, and there, surrounded by the 



48 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

young Swedish officers whom the court of Versailles 
received most kindly, he might have thought himself 
in his own country. Never had Marie Antoinette 
been more amiable and more charming. Marmontel 
and Gr^try's "Awakened Sleeper" was acted with 
fine scenery and brilliant ballets. After the play in 
the delightful little theatre, supper was served in 
the English garden, under the trees, which were illu- 
minated by colored lanterns and fireworks. The 
Queen would not take a seat at the table, being 
anxious to do all the honors to her guests. All the 
ladies were dressed in white. It was, as Gustavus 
himself said, a real scene from fairyland, a sight 
worthy of the Elysian Fields. 

At the same time the King wrote the following 
letter to Louis XVI. : " Two friends ought to talk 
over their common interests with perfect frankness, 
and when two kings, like ourselves, are personally ac- 
quainted, it behooves our dignity that we treat with 
each other directly, . . . Having been educated since 
my tenderest infancy in a firm friendship for France, 
and having been strengthened in this feeling by that 
of the late King, Louis XV., which he manifested in 
the most perilous moments of my life, my most con- 
stant aim has been to testify to him, as also to Your 
Majesty, my sincere gratitude and my desire to per- 
petuate the union which has so long existed between 
our two countries." 

The journey of Gustavus III. proves the high posi- 
tion then held by France in the eyes of foreign na- 



GUSTAVUS III. AT VEBSAILLES. 49 

tions. If the Revolution had not broken out in 
France, its diplomacy would have brought forth 
important results, and its system of alliances would 
have become most firmly fixed. Louis XVI., who 
was the object of universal esteem and respect, inter- 
ested himself most carefully and intelligently in for- 
eign affairs. He played a very important part in 
the European concert, and his ambassadors were 
superior men, who represented him most worthily in 
foreign countries. With their enlightenment, their 
courage, their general aptitude, their historical tradi- 
tions, and the examples of their great men, the won- 
derful climate, its zone of waves and mountains, what 
power might not the French have attained, if they 
had not been divided against themselves ? 

July 19, 1784, Gustavus III. signed with Louis 
XVI. a favorable treaty of alliance. The next da}^ 
he left for Sweden, well content with the results of 
his journey, delighted with the French court, with 
no suspicion of the tragic lot in reserve for his host 
and for himself. 

It seems that all the figures who appeared, even 
for a moment, on the scene at Versailles, were con- 
demned by an inexorable fatality. We might say that 
every one who crossed the threshold of this palace 
was thereby doomed in advance to exile, captivity, or 
death. The conspirators' pistols, the strangler's bow- 
string, the headsman's axe, were hidden in the dark 
mystery of the future. The smell of blood was al- 
ready mingling with the perfumes of the court. The 



50 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

hour was approaching when the Grand Duke Paul of 
Russia and Gustavus III. of Sweden, the two princes 
who had been so graciously received in France, were 
to be surrounded by assassins. 

Gustavus, the king so admired by philosophers, 
became, in his later years, the victim of absurd 
superstitions and credulity which is the punishment 
at all times of the lack of faith. Long before he fell 
beneath the blows of traitors, he felt that he was in 
the toils of a hidden conspiracy. He tried to dis- 
tract himself in the tumult of noisy pleasures, which 
he crowded one upon another, but everywhere and 
always the dark presentiment pursued him. At last, 
in the fine theatre of Stockholm, where his love of 
the stage had produced many marvels, he was struck 
down at a court ball, at which he appeared in a 
domino, by regicide courtiers. 

Paul I., a crowned Hamlet, desired to avenge his 
father. A martyr to his greatness, he suffered on 
his throne, at the height of his power, inexpressible 
anguish and grief. This generous man, this great 
Russian patriot, full of the national genius, a human, 
inteUigent, lovable prince, whom Paris and Ver- 
sailles had so justly and warmly greeted, was to be 
treated as a madman, and, like Gustavus HI., to be 
assassinated by his own courtiers. 



V. 



IT was the month of August, 1785 ; Marie Antoi- 
nette, who had been installed since the 8d in her 
favorite summer residence, the Little Trianon, was 
to stay there till the 24th, the day before the festival 
of Saint Louis. " This outing," says Metra, " is an 
almost continual ball. The lords and ladies of the^- 
court dance beneath a large tent. The different perr 
sons of Yersailles are admitted, and the parties are 
many and gay." There was nothing prettier dr 
more rural than the Sunday balls on the lawns of the 
Little Trianon. The Queen, in her white linen 
dress, set aside the scej)tre for the shepherd's crook ; 
royalty became a pastoral like those of Florian. Lan- 
cret and Watteau no longer were the models ; it was 
Greuze who set the fashion. At these Sunday balls 
every one who was properly dressed was admitted, 
especially nurses with young children. " Marie An- 
toinette," Ave read in the Memoirs of the Count of 
Vaublanc, "used to dance a square dance, to show 
that she took a part in the pleasures to which she 
had invited others. She used to summon the nurses, 

51 



52 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

have the children presented to her, speak to them of 
their parents, and load them with attentions." 

The charming entertainments were truly demo- 
cratic. " I noticed, with one of my friends," con- 
tinues the Count of Yaublanc, an eye-witness, " that 
very few who belonged to the highest society took 
part in these entertainments. They did not hold 
themselves aloof from haughtiness, for they every 
day were wearing plainer clothes, and it was more 
and more becoming the fashion not to wear one's 
orders ; but rather from a delicacy about taking places 
which others passionately desired." 

Marie Antoinette did not content herself with 
country balls ; she was going to act plays. The 
theatre of the Little Trianon Avas made ready, — a 
real jewel, a work of art. At the present time it is 
closed to the public ; a great pity, for it is so dainty, 
so charming, so replete with pleasant memories I 
Why hide such a gem in its case ? 

At the end of the flower-garden, on one of the 
sides of -the French garden, near the summer-house 
which used to be the summer dining-room of Louis 
XV., are two Ionic columns, supporting a pediment, 
on which is a cupid holding a tyre and laurel wreath ; 
that is the door of the theatre. The hall is in white 
and gold ; the ceiling represents an Otympus, painted 
by Lagren^e. Above the curtain two nymphs sup- 
port the coat-of-arms of the deity of the place, Marie 
Antoinette. The accommodations for the audience 
are small, but the stage is large enough for the most 



" THE BARBER OF SEVILLE:' 53 

complicated plays. August 1, 1780, began the per- 
formances of the royal company. Grimm wrote at 
that time, in his Correspondence : " No one has ever 
seen, and no one will ever see, ' Le Roi et le Fermier,' 
or 'La Gageure impr^vue,' played by more illus- 
trious actors, or before a more imposing and more 
select audience. The Queen, who is endowed with 
every grace, and knows how to assume all without 
losing her own, played Jenny in the first piece, 
and took the soubrette's part in the second. All 
the other parts were taken by the intimate friends of 
Their Majesties and the royal family. The Count of 
Artois appeared as a game-keeper in the first play, 
and as a valet in the second. The Count of Vau- 
dreuil, perhaps the best amateur actor in Paris, took 
the part of Richard; the Duchess of Guiche (the 
daughter of the Duchess of Polignac), of whom 
Horace might well have said, Matre pidchrd filia 
pulchrior, that of the little Betzi ; the Countess Diana 
of Polignac, that of the mother; and the Count of 
Adhemar, that of the king." 

Marie Antoinette was fond of the emotions of the 
stage. And is there not a resemblance between real 
queens and theatre queens? They are equally in 
sight, and alike exposed to praise and blame. 

September 19, 1780, the illustrious actress, in her 
theatre at the Little Trianon, took, with great suc- 
cess, the part of Colette, in the " Devin du Village " 
of Jean Jacques Rousseau. She was very charming 
in this play. Her mother, the Empress Maria Theresa, 



54 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

did not approve of private theatricals, "knowing 
many instances," she wrote to the Count of Mercy- 
Argenteau, "in which these performances ended in 
Gome love affair, or scandal of some sort." The am- 
bassador, who, in his letters to his sovereign, was a 
harsh judge of Marie Antoinette's amusements, was 
not bold enough to condemn severely the perform- 
ance of the " Devin du Village," because he had re- 
ceived the distinguished favor of a special invitation 
to see it, incognito, from a closed box. Among the 
audience the sole members of the court were Mon- 
sieur, the King's brother, the Countess of Artois, and 
Madame Elisabeth. The boxes and balconies were 
filled by subordinate attendants. Not a single great 
lord, not a single fine lady, was admitted ; there were 
no ministers, no diplomatists. The exception made 
in favor of the Austrian Ambassador was a very 
flattering one. Consequently, in his " very humble re- 
port " of October 24, t780, he was more lenient than 
usual. "The Queen," he wrote, "has a very agree- 
able and harmonious voice ; her way of acting is 
dignified and full of grace ; in a word, the play was 
given as well as was possible for private theatricals. 
I noticed that the King watched it with manifest 
attention and pleasure. During the entr'actes he went 
on the stage and into the Queen's dressing-room." 

It has been said that Louis XVI. hissed Marie 
Antoinette ; also that the Queen, having summoned 
the guards, said to them at the end of the evening, 
advancing to the footlights : " Gentlemen, I have 



" THE BARBER OF SEVILLE." 55 

done my best to amuse you ; I should have liked to 
act better, to give you more pleasure." The anec- 
dotes are inexact ; nothing of the sort happened. 

These performances, which were interrupted by 
the death of Maria Theresa and the delicate condition 
of Marie Antoinette, were resumed in the summer of 
1782 and 1783. The Queen supervised the minutest 
details of her little theatre, — scenery, machinery, cos- 
tumes, setting, — she regulated everything. Her great- 
est success was as Babet in the "Matinee et la veillee 
villageoise," an operetta by Dezide. Babet, a village 
Cinderella lost her wooden shoe, like the fairy's slip- 
per. Alas ! what Marie Antoinette was to lose, was 
not a wooden shoe, or a slipper, but her crown. - 

In 1785 there was but one performance, and that 
was the last of all. Beaumarchais was then all the 
rage. The "Marriage of Figaro" had been given 
again most successfully, at the Theatre FrauQais, and 
the Queen, who had pro'tected the author, conceived 
the idea of paying him the most unexpected honor, 
of giving in the Little Trianon the " Barber of 
Seville." " Imagine the pretty little pet, gentle, ten- 
der, easy, fresh, tempting, with her pretty foot, her 
fslim waist, her trim figure, her plump arms, her pink 
lips, and her hands ! her cheeks ! her teeth ! her 
eyes!" (The "Barber of Seville," Act II., Scene 2). 
Yes, this part of Rosin a, this charming girl, this fas- 
cinating creature whom Figaro thus describes, was to 
be played by the most imposing and majestic of 
women, the Queen of France and of Navarre. 



56 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

The rehearsals began under the direction of one 
of the best actors of the Comedie Frangaise, Dazin- 
court, who had just made a great hit in the " Marriage 
of Figaro." It was during these preparations that the 
first rumors of the affair of the necklace reached the 
Queen. Marie Antoinette had summoned Madame 
Campan to the Little Trianon, and was rehearsing 
the part of Rosina with her when she heard from her 
of the horrible drama and the inconceivable enigma 
which was soon to fire all France with curiosity and 
wrath. 

It was like a thunderbolt. The Queen perceived 
at a glance into what an abyss of calumny and dis- 
grace her cowardly enemies were trying to hurl her. 
But she did not lose heart. She saw that to abandon 
the play, which had been announced, would be to 
confess her guilt and show her alarm. Far from 
countermanding the play, she continued to direct the 
preparations without a pause. August 15, 1785, the 
festival of the Assumption, the Cardinal de Rohan, 
Grand Almoner of France, was arrested, in his pon- 
tifical robes, just as he was about to ascend to the 
altar in the chapel of the palace of Versailles. Four 
days later, Marie Antoinette played Rosina in the 
" Barber of Seville." 

Beaumarchais was present. The part of Figaro 
was taken by the Count of Artois ; that of Almaviva, 
by the Count of Vaudreuil ; Bartholo, by the Duke 
of Guiche ; Bazile, by M. de Crussol. " The few 
spectators admitted to this performance," writes 



" THE BARB En OF SEVILLE:' 57 

Grimm in his Correspondence^ "found in it a unity 
and harmony which are very rare in plays acted by 
amateurs. It was especially noticed that the Queen 
threw into the scene in the fourth act a grace and 
truth which would have won the most enthusiastic 
applause for even a less illustrious actress." 

It was indeed a singular evening ! At the very- 
moment when so many catastrophes were preparing 
and so many storms gathering, it was odd to hear the 
brother of Louis XVI., the Count of Artois, exclaim- 
ing, in Figaro's Andalusian dress : " Upon my word, 
sir, since men have no other choice than between stu- 
pidity and madness, if I can't get any profit, I want 
at least pleasure ; so, hurrah for happiness ! Who 
knows if the world is going to last three weeks ? " 
It was the sturdy upholder of the old regime, the 
future emigre, the prince who was to be known later 
as Charles X., who uttered democratic phrases like 
these : " I find myself very happy to be forgotten, 
being sure that a great man does us enough good 
when he does us no harm. As to the virtues which 
one requires in a servant, does Your Excellency know 
many masters who are worthy of being valets ? " In 
this gaiety was there not more show than sincerity, 
something forced, something factitious, and was there 
not a forewarning in this speech of Figaro's in the 
mouth of the brother of Louis XVI. : " I hasten to 
laugh at everything, lest I should have to weep at 
everything " ? 

Ah ! let Marie Antoinette pay attention and lend 



58 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

her ear. At the moment when the trial of the neck- 
lace is beginning, and everywhere are circulating the 
malicious inventions of hate and falsehood, would 
one not say that almost all these calumnious lies are 
foretold by Basil : " Calumny ! you don't know 
what it is you despise. I have seen the honestest 
people nearly crushed by it. Do you think that 
there is any stupid scandal, any horror, any absurd 
tale, which cannot be spread among the idlers of a 
great town with proper care? and we have to do 
here with crafty people." Beautiful and unfortunate 
Queen! So when she listened to this definition of 
the crescendo of calumny, must she not have grown 
pale? "First a faint rumor, skimming the ground 
like a swallow before the storm, murmurs pianissimo^ 
and flits and drops the poisonous dart. A mouth 
picks it up, and piano., piano., drops it adroitly in 
some one's ear. The harm is done ; it grows, spreads, 
makes its way rinforzando, from mouth to mouth, on 
its devilish path ; then suddenly, no one knows how, 
you see calumny rise, hissing, and growing before 
your eyes. It spreads, takes flight, whirls about, 
covers everything, rends, tears, thunders, and be- 
comes, with the aid of Heaven, a general cry, a public 
crescendo^ a universal chorus of hate and denuncia- 
tion. Who the devil could withstand it ? " 

With this performance of the " Barber of Seville," 
ended the theatricals at the Little Trianon. The 
day of comedies was over. What was preparing was 
a drama ; not a stage drama, but a real one, a terri- 



THE BARBER OF SEVILLE:' 59 



ble one, in which Providence had prepared for the 
Queen the most tragic and touching part. The pro- 
logue was ah^eady beginning in this strange and fatal 
affair of the necklace, the plot of which recalls the 
most complicated plays. We shall try to set some of 
the characters on the stage. 



VI. 

THE CARDINAL DE ROHAN. 

THERE is no more curious trial than that about 
the necklace. It is a sort of romance, which 
seems the invention of calumny and hate ; a strange 
mixture of seriousness and frivolity, as inexplicable 
as an enigma, as full of incident as a play ; a tragi- 
comedy designed to pique and amuse the malevolence 
of the public ; a plot more strange and improbable 
than even Beaumarchais could have invented ; a pro- 
logue to the Revolution, one in which everything is 
a matter of surprise : the persons accused, the judges, 
the public, the investigation, the trial, the verdict. 

Such a character as the Cardinal de Rohan can 
appear only in a society that is on the point of 
perishing. This priest, who is a man of the world, 
and cannot live on less than twelve hundred thou- 
sand francs a year ; this bishop, prince, and ambassa- 
dor, who changes his cassock for a hunting-coat, and 
prefers drawing-rooms and boudoirs to churches and 
sacristies ; this ecclesiastical Don Juan, glittering in i 
golden chasubles, whose pastoral ring is a jewel of 
inestimable value, whose lace rochets fill the most : 

60 



THE CABBINAL BE BOHAN. 61 

fashionable beauties with envy ; this cardinal, who 
makes his appearance between a charlatan and a de- 
praved woman, between a Cagliostro and a Madame 
de La Motte ; this intelligent and foolish man, simple 
and corrupt, generous and most crafty, sceptical and 
incredulous, is surely a most characteristic figure. 
What dreams, what follies, haunt the imagination of 
this prince of the Church, who aspires to the glory 
of the great Richelieu and the good fortunes of the 
skilful Mazarin ! What ambitions fire the brain of this 
dreamer who fancies himself on the point of discov- 
ering the philosopher's stone, and boasts that soon, 
thanks to the magical power of his friend Cagliostro, 
he is to become the mightiest and richest prince in 
the world ! Beneath his aristocratic calm, under the 
reserve of good society, what excitement, what tem- 
pests, what delirium prevails ! This man who makes 
his grand vicar write his charges, and writes his love- 
letters himself ; who is more interested in a sorcerer's 
conjuring-book than in the holy words of the Church ; 
this bishop, this cardinal, who, as if in scorn, is the 
Grand Almoner of France at the moment when the 
clergy, attacked by the philosophers, ought to be 
adding to its wisdom, its austerity, its virtue — this 
man is the incarnation of all the elegance and all the 
vices of the crumbling society. 

Louis Rene Edouard de Rohan was born in 1734. 
His high rank raised him speedily to ecclesiastical 
dignity. When Marie Antoinette arrived in France, 
in 1770, to marry the Dauphin, he was the suffragan 



62 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

bishop of his uncle, the Cardinal Constantin cle Ro- 
han, Prince Bishop of Strasburg. In the absence of 
his uncle, who was ill, he received the Dauphiness at 
the cathedral door, and congratulated her. 

The 21st of June, in the next year, Marie Antoi- 
nette wrote to her mother: "It is said that the 
suffragan bishop of Strasburg is to go to Vienna. 
He belongs to a very great family, but his life hitherto 
has been much more that of a soldier than of a 
bishop." 

For her part, Maria Theresa wrote to the Count 
of Mercy, July 8: "I have every reason to be dis- 
satisfied with the choice of such a worthless person 
for French Ambassador at this court. I should, per- 
haps, have refused to receive him, if I had not been 
withheld by the consideration of the annoyance to 
my daughter this action might call forth; but you 
must not neglect to let the French court know that 
it would do well to recommend to the Ambassador 
discreet behavior, such as becomes his position and 
the office he is to fill ; and that, moreover, I should 
not be over-ready to wink at any extravagances or 
scandals in which he may be inclined to indulge." 

Once in Vienna, Prince Loais, — for so the future 
cardinal was then styled, — displayed extraordinary 
pomp and luxury. His manner of life was regal : he 
kept a stable of fifty horses, had two state carriages 
which cost twenty thousand francs apiece, a first 
equerry, a sub-equerry, two grooms, seven pages of 
noble birth, with their tutor and guardian, two gen- 



THE CARDINAL DE ROHAN. 63 

tlemeii to do the honors of the bedchamber, a head 
butler, a chief cook, two footmen, four running- 
footmen in gold livery, six valets de chambre, twelve 
footmen for the house, two porters, ten musicians 
clad in scarlet, a steward, a treasurer ; finally, for the 
diplomatic work, four secretaries and four gentlemen. 
His gallantry was notorious. He was always at the 
theatre. He used to wear the different hunting-uni- 
forms of the noblemen whom he visited. 

One Corpus Christi Day, he and all the Embassy, 
in their green uniforms slashed with gold, broke 
through a procession which blocked their path, in 
order to join a hunting-party given by the Prince of 
Paar. His prodigality was excessive, and the conduct 
of his suite was most scandalous. Maria Theresa 
hated him as if she had a presentiment of the harm 
he was to do Marie Antoinette. The Empress wrote 
to the Count of Mercy- Argenteau, January 19, 1772 : 
" I cannot express approval of the Ambassador Rohan. 
He is a huge volume of evil language which is ill 
suited to his position as ecclesiastic and as minister ; 
he lets it flow in the most impudent way on every 
occasion, with no knowledge of affairs and without 
the necessary gifts, but full of levity, presumption, 
and indifference. . . . His suite is also a collection 
of people destitute of merit and of morals." 

Every day Maria Theresa complained more bit- 
terly. She wrote again to the Count of Mercy, 
March 18, 1772: " The Prince de Rohan displeases 
me more and more ; he is a worthless fellow. . . . 



64 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

To be sure, the Emperor likes to talk with him, but 
it is only to draw out his stupid, bragging chatter." 
September 1 of the same year ; " Rohan is always the 
same ; yet nearly all our women, young and old, 
pretty or plain, are none the less fascinated by this 
extravagant and ridiculous villain." May 15, 1773 : 
" The sooner Rohan is recalled, the better pleased 
I shall be. He is unendurable." And in July: 
" There is no need of hoping for any change in the 
conduct of the Prince de Rohan. He is incorrigible, 
and his servants, the rascals, are just like their 
worthless master. They corrupt my people, exactly 
as their master corrupts the nobility. Their inso- 
lence goes to the wildest excesses and fills my sub- 
jects with indignation." 

It was during his embassy in Vienna that Rohan 
lost the friendship of Marie Antoinette. One evening, 
Madame Du Barry read aloud, at the King's supper- 
table, in the Dauphin's presence, a letter in which 
the Ambassador described the Empress Maria Theresa 
as holding in one hand a handkerchief with which to 
wipe away the tears she was shedding over the woes 
of Poland, while in the other she was holding a 
sword wherewith to divide that unfortunate country. 
The letter, which was a confidential one, had been 
written, not to Madame Du Barry, but to the Duke 
of Aiguillon. Marie Antoinette, however, thought 
that it was written to the Countess, and could not 
forgive the Ambassador for choosing such a corre- 
spondent or for presuming to criticise Maria Theresa. 



THE CARDINAL BE MOHAN. 6b 

The Prince de Rohan held the post of ambassador 
for only two years. When Louis XVI. ascended the 
throne, Rohan appeared to be in disgrace, which, how- 
ever, did not prevent his being loaded with honors. 
A relative of his, the Countess of Marsan, who had 
brought up the King, succeeded by her insistence in 
having him appointed Grand Almoner of France, on 
the death of the Cardinal de La Roche-Aymon, in 
1777. Then he became Prince Bishop of Strasburg, 
in 1779, on the death of his uncle, whose suffragan he 
had been. He obtained his cardinal's hat through 
the favor of Stanislas Poniatowski, King of Poland, 
and the abbey of Saint Waast, with its enormous 
revenues. He was admitted to the French Academy, 
and chosen Principal of the Sorbonne. This last 
position, which was much sought after by the high 
dignitaries of the Church, was filled by the votes of 
the graduate ecclesiastics and the doctors of the Sor- 
bonne. The cardinals did their best to secure this 
post at the head of this famous institution, the sanc- 
tuary of theology, the stronghold of religion ; but the 
Grand Almoner succeeded over all his rivals. 

Part of the time he lived in Paris, in a splendid 
mansion in the rue Vieille du Temple, which is now 
the National Printing-house, and part of the time 
at Saverne, in a magnificent palace. The Baroness 
Oberkirch, who visited him there in 1780, was much 
struck by the pomp he displayed. She describes him 
as handsome, polite, majestic, coming out of his 
chapel in a cassock of scarlet watered silk and an Eng- 



Q^ MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

lish rochet of inestimable value. When he officiated at 
Versailles he wore an alb, for great ceremonies, of 
such valuable lace that one hardly dared touch it; 
his arms and motto were arranged in medallions 
above large flowers, and it was estimated to be worth 
a hundred thousand francs. In his hand he carried 
an illuminated missal, a family heirloom, of royal mag- 
nificence. " He came to meet us," Madame d'Ober- 
kirch goes on, " with an air of a great lord's gallantry 
and politeness such as I have seldom seen. The Car- 
dinal was highly educated and very amiable." 

This handsome prelate, so rich and flattered, fan- 
cied himself a victim of fate. As Grand Almoner 
of France, he was at the head of the episcopate and 
the clergy ; no bishop could see the King except with 
his permission; he held the patronage of all the 
positions as King's almoners, eight in number, and 
those as chaplains, with their large livings. He was 
not satisfied with being a Prince of the House of 
Rohan, Cardinal, Grand Almoner of France, a Knight 
of the Holy Ghost, Bishop of Strasburg, Sovereign 
Prince of Hildesheim, Abbot of Noirmoutiers and 
of Saint Waast, Principal of the Sorbonne, Superior 
of the Asylum for the Blind, the possessor of an 
income of from seven to eight hundred thousand 
francs from the revenues of the Church, a member 
of the French Academy, a man of the highest 
fashion, the favorite of all the fine ladies of the 
courts of Vienna and Versailles : this ambitious man 
wanted something more. What he asked of fate. 



THE CABBINAL BE ROHAN. 67 

what he was surprised that he did not yet possess, 
was the unlimited power and rank of prime minister, 
the joy of seeing all his rivals at his feet. 

What prevented the realization of this vision of 
pride and glory ? Only one person, he thought, — the 
Queen. How could he, so glorious and fascinating, 
he, the Cardinal Prince of Rohan, not succeed in 
making the conquest of a woman ? In that, he said 
to himself in his fatuity, there was something really 
inexplicable. He, the Prince of Rohan, not please 
the Queen! There must be some mistake. Yet 
Marie Antoinette continued to maintain her icy atti- 
tude. She never addressed a word to the Grand 
Almoner of France. The Grand Almoner lamented 
it. He would gladly have given all his revenues 
from the Church for a word, for a smile. This dis- 
dain of Marie Antoinette's was the torture, the de- 
spair of the Cardinal. His most ardent desire was 
to become her favorite ; that was the aim to which 
all the resources of his mind were turned. When he 
was seeking with a feverish anxiety every means to 
obtain the good graces of his sovereign and to reach 
the summit of fortune, of greatness, he met two per- 
sons who, he thought, could be of the greatest service 
to him in carrying out his design — a charlatan and 
an intriguing woman, Cagliostro and Madame de La 
Motte. 



VII. 



CAGLIOSTRO. 



WHEN we cease to study history superficially 
and go down into its depths, we are surprised 
at the supply of absurdities which every period adds 
to the mass of human follies, and we acquire the con- 
viction that what we call common sense ought to be 
called the uncommon sense. The illogicality, the 
contradictions, the absurdities, of the human heart 
are eternal causes of surprise. The more corrupt the 
society, the more easily is it led to every extravagance 
in its tastes and fashions. 

Superstition and incredulity walk hand in hand; 
men refuse to believe in the Gospel, only to give 
their faith to the wildest chimeras, the most eccentric 
visions ; they call themselves hard-headed, and suffer 
from every weakness; they boast that they are fol- 
lowers of reason, and they are in fact only apostles of 
madness ; they cease to believe in God, but they still 
believe in the devil. Extremes meet, and old races 
have all the credulity of children. The mania for the 
supernatural, the rage for the marvellous, prevailed 
in the last years of the eighteenth century, which had 

68 



CAGLI08TR0. 69 



wantonly derided every sacred thing. Never were 
the Rosicrucians, the adepts, sorcerers, and prophets 
so numerous and so respected. Serious and educated 
men, magistrates, courtiers, declared themselves eye- 
witnesses of alleged miracles. "I have a theory," 
said the Prince of Ligne, " that the most reasonable 
persons have, unknown to themselves, a romantic 
corner in their life. No one of us escapes it; it is 
the tribute we pay to the imagination." / 

When Cagliostro came to France, he found the 
ground prepared for his magical operations. A so- 
ciety eager for distractions and emotions, indulgent 
to every form of extravagance, necessarily welcomed 
such a man and hailed him as its guide. Whence 
did he come ? What was his country, his age, his 
origin? Where did he get those extraordinary dia- 
monds which adorned his dress, the gold which he 
squandered so freely ? It was all a mystery. Like 
his predecessor, the Count of Saint Germain, he 
pretended to be more than three hundred years old, 
while he seemed to be about thirty. It was, he said, 
because he possessed the secret of eternal youth and 
the power of reawakening love. With him was his 
young wife, a beautiful Neapolitan, the Flower of 
Vesuvius, as she was called, Serafina Feliciani. 

So far as was known, Cagliostro had no resources, 
no letter of credit, and yet lie lived in luxury. He 
treated and cured the poor without pay, and not 
satisfied with restoring them to health, he made them 
large presents of money. His generosity to the 



70 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

poor, his scorn for the great, aroused universal en- 
thusiasm. The Germans, who lived on legends, 
imagined that he was the Wandering Jew. When 
he first set foot on French soil, in 1780, he chose 
Strasburg for his residence, being attracted thither 
by the Cathedral spire. The Cardinal de Rohan, who 
was then living in his splendid castle at Saverne, in 
more than princely luxury, was extremely anxious to 
become acquainted with the famous worker of won- 
ders. Cagliostro did not make the first steps : " If 
the Cardinal is sick," he said, " he may come to me, 
and I will cure him ; if he is well, he has no need for 
me, nor I for him." This charlatan, who gave out 
that he had discovered the philosopher's stone, un- 
derstood how to extract inexhaustible supplies from 
the devotion of his adherents. He asked for nothing, 
and received everything in abundance. They gave 
everything to him, under the impression that they 
were enriching themselves. The Egyptian lodges 
which he founded everywhere he went, brought him 
in large revenues. He exercised a real fascination 
on his adepts. 

The Baroness of Oberkirch, who saw him at Sa- 
verne in 1780, at the Cardinal's palace, has described 
the adoration which was paid him : " No one can 
ever form the faintest idea of the fervor with which 
everybody pursued Cagliostro. He was surrounded, 
besieged ; every one trying to win a glance or a word. 
... A dozen ladies of rank and two actresses had 
followed him, in order to continue their treatment. 



CAGLIOSTBO. 71 



• • • If I had not seen it, I should never have im- 
agined that a prince of the Roman Church, a Eohan, 
a man in other respects intelligent and honorable, 
could so far let himself be imposed upon as to 
renounce his dignity, his free will, at the bidding of 
a sharper." /: '. ■"' ; 

One day Cagliostro said to the Cardinal, "Your 
soul is worthy of mine, and you deserve to be the con- 
fidant of all my secrets." For his part, the Cardinal 
was never weary of expatiating on the merits of his 
new friend. He showed to the Baroness of Ober- 
kirch a large stone which he wore on his little finger, 
on which was cut the coat-of-arms of the house of 
Rohan ; it was worth twenty thousand francs at the 
lowest calculation. "It's a beautiful stone. Your 
Grace," said the Baroness ; " I have often admired 
it." " Well, he made it," the Cardinal went on ; " he 
made it, and out of nothing ; I saw him with my 
own eyes ; I was there watching the crucible ; I was 
present at the operation. Is that science ? What do 
you think ? You mustn't say that he is deceiving me, 
for the jeweller and the engraver set the value of the 
stone at twenty-five thousand francs. You must ac- 
knowledge that it is a singular swindler who makes 
presents like that." Then, growing more excited, 
the Cardinal added with great warmth : " That's not 
all ; he makes gold ; he has made five or six thousand 
francs' worth before me, up there in the top of the 
palace. I am to have more ; I am to have a great 
deal ; he will make me the richest prince in Europe. 



72 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

These are not dreams, Madame ; they are proofs. And 
his prophecies that have come true I and the miracu- 
lous cures he has wrought ! I tell you he is the most 
extraordinary, the sublimest man in the world, and 
his knowledge is equalled only by his kindness. How 
much he gives in alms I How much good he does ! 
It passes all imagination ! " 

Cagliostro did not content himself with promising 
the Cardinal glory and power ; he also cured him of 
an asthma : consequently nothing equalled the grati- 
tude of this prince of the Church. He spoke with 
affection and admiration of this wonderful man, 
whom he regarded as his guide and saviour. From 
that moment Cagliostro was free to help himself from 
the purse of this showy and generous prelate. Jan- 
uary 30, 1785, he took up his quarters in Paris, at 
the Marais, in the rue Saint Claude, very near the 
Cardinal's residence. Paris was no less enthusiastic 
than Strasburg. With his half-philosophical, half- 
mystical jargon, his knowledge of physics, chemistry, 
alchemy, and medicine ; his pretence of making gold, 
of having lived in past centuries, of foretelling the 
future, and of having guessed the great secrets of 
creation, Cagliostro upset and fired feeble minds. 
His glance, at one moment all flame, the next ice, 
fascinated them. To the sick he used to say, " I will 
give you health " ; to the poor, " I will give you 
wealth " ; to the impotent, " I will give you love." 

Flattering the sensuality of the age, he exalted the 
natural instincts as beneficent emanations granted to 



CAGLIOSTBO. 73 



mortals by the Supreme Being, as a recompense for 
the evils inseparable from humanity. He taught that 
the religion most worthy of God and of man was that 
of the patriarchs, and that Adam, Seth, Enoch, Noah, 
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, had lived in close intimacy 
with their Creator, who continually manifested him- 
self to them. He added that he was the possessor of 
this secret of the patriarchs, and that, lil^e them, he 
was in direct and continual communication with Him. 
Speaking a strange gibberish, which was neither 
French nor Italian, with which he mingled a jargon 
which he did not translate, but called Arabic, he 
used to recite with solemn emphasis the most absurd 
fables. When he repeated his conversation with the 
angel of light and the angel of darkness, when he 
spoke of the great secret of Memphis, of the Hiero- 
phant, of the giants, the enormous animals, of a city 
in the interior of Africa ten times as large as Paris, 
where his correspondents lived, he found a number 
of people ready to listen and to believe him. 

In his medical treatment, his three great panaceas 
were baths in which there was a great quantity of the 
extract of Saturn; a potion, of which the receipt 
was in the hands only of an apothecary he had 
chosen ; and some drops of his own composition, the 
miraculous effects of which, he said, would cure 
all the diseases which physicians had pronounced 
hopeless. 

As a sorcerer he had a cabalistic apparatus. On a 
table with a black cloth, on which were embroidered 



74 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

in red the m3^sterious signs of the highest degree 
of the Rosicrucians, there stood the emblems : little 
Egyptian figures, old vials filled with lustral waters, 
and a crucifix, very like, though not the same as the 
Christian's cross ; and there too Cagliostro placed a 
glass globe full of clarified water. Before the globe 
he used to place a kneeling seer ; that is to say, a 
young woman who, by supernatural powers, should 
behold the scenes Avhich were believed to take place 
in water within the magic globe. 

Count Beugnot, who gives all the details in his 
Memoirs, adds that for the proper performance of the 
miracle, the seer had to be of angelic purity, to have 
been born under a certain constellation, to have 
delicate nerves, great sensitiveness, and, in addition, 
blue eyes. When she had knelt down, the geniuses 
were bidden to enter the globe. The water became 
active and turbid. The seer was convulsed, she 
ground her teeth, and exhibited every sign of ner- 
vous excitement. At last she saw and began to 
speak. What was taking place that very moment at 
hundreds of miles from Paris, in Vienna or Saint 
Petersburg, in America or Pekin, as well as things 
wliich were going to occur only some weeks, months, 
or years later, she declared that she saw distinctly in 
the globe. The operation had succeeded; the adepts 
were transported with delight. 

" It would be hard," says Count Beugnot, " to be- 
lieve that such scenes could have place in France at 
the end of the eighteenth century ; yet they aroused 



CAGLIOSTRO. 75 



great interest among people of importance in the 
court and the town. The Count of Estaing allowed 
himself to be led away by these follies, and became 
their upholder. The Cardinal de Rohan was amazed 
at the power these prophecies gave him over his 
enemies, and he let it be known that the Duke of 
Chartres, whose court had decided not to believe in 
God," was ready to believe in Cagliostro; so true it 
is, that in human weakness there is always an open- 
ing for faith, which is always likely, when it lacks 
proper material, to tolerate ridiculous or dangerous 
subjects." 

Cagliostro was certainly one of the main causes of 
the misfortunes of the Cardinal de Rohan. Such an 
oracle was sure to ruin the ambitious prelate, by driv- 
ing him to delirium through fantastic promises of 
power, wealth, and love. When the fatal business 
of the purchase of the necklace came up, Cagliostro, 
who had recently come to Paris, was mysteriously 
consulted in the very drawing-room of the Cardinal. 
The Egyptian invocations took place in the light of 
countless candles. The prophet ascended the tripod 
and spoke. The matter, he declared, was worthy of 
the Prince; it would be completely successful; it 
would put the last touch to the kindness of the 
Queen, and finally hasten the day when, for the hap- 
piness of France, of Europe, of humanity, the rare 
gifts of the Cardinal should become known. Rohan 
hesitated no longer, and the affair of the necklace 
began. 



VIII. 

THE COUNTESS DB LA MOTTE. 

THE Countess de La Motte was, even more than 
Cagliostro, the evil genius of the Cardinal de 
Rohan. She was a perfect ty2:>e of a woman of no 
defined position, at war, from her birth, with the 
social order, all the laws of which she defied ; she was 
an adventuress, who united with vicious instincts wild 
extravagance, and insatiable vanity with the haughti- 
ness of a princess, the cynicism and depravity of a 
courtesan. Madame de La Motte was one of those 
unhappy natures which show what intelligence is 
when not controlled by morality and common sense. 
This woman, whose ardent imagination had a de- 
moniac quality, found that at certain limits lying is 
a proof of ability ; imposture, of courage ; swindling, 
of talent. She appeared on the scene as if by a 
mockery of fate, and she it was who, for the last 
time, evoked before the multitude a name famous 
throughout the world. The blood of Henri II., the 
lover of Diane de Poitiers, flowed in her veins. 
Strange are the vicissitudes of destiny! This race 
of the Valois, once so powerful, was represented by 

76 



THE COUNTESS DE LA MOTTE. 77 

this woman. What a delight for the secret enemies 
of the throne I What scandals they concocted ! The 
Valois slandering the Bourbons; the two families 
engaged in the same trial ; the adulteries of Henri II. 
punished in his illegitimate progeny ; what an irony 
of fate ! what a prologue of the Revolution I 

Jeanne de Saint-Remy de Valois, Countess de La 
Motte, was born at Fontette (Aube), July 22, 1756. 
She was the second child of Jacques de Saint-Remy 
de Valois, and descended in the seventh generation 
from Henri de Saint-Remy, son of Henri II., King 
of France, and of Nicole de Savigny, Lady de Saint- 
Remy, de Fontette, du Ch^telier, and de Noez. In 
spite of its illustrious origin, this family had long 
been extremely poor. One of its members made 
answer to Louis XIIL, who asked him what he was 
doing at his estate, " Sire, I am only doing what I 
should do." Later the true meaning of this seem- 
ingly haughty reply came out, when it was discov 
ered that this descendant of the Valois was making, 
on his estate, counterfeit money wherewith to pay 
his numerous creditors. 

The father of Madame de La Motte was sunk in 
the deepest misery. He had married the daughter 
of the concierge of his Fontette house, by whom he 
had four children, one son and three daughters. He 
died in a hospital in 1762. A charitable lady, the 
Marchioness of Boulainvilliers, took charge of the 
children, sent the boy to a naval school, and the girls 
to a boarding-school at Passy. Their genealogy was 



78 MABIE ANTOINETTE, 

verified by d'Hozier in 1776, and the King allowed to 
each one of the children a pension of eight hundred 
francs. But a young, ambitious girl, fond of luxury 
and dress, could not live on any such sum as that. 
Jeanne desired to make her fortune, and any way 
was good for her. She spent a year at Bar-sur-Aube, 
with a lady named Surmont, and then married a 
gentleman as poor as herself, the Count de La Motte, 
a gendarme (at that time the gendarmes were the 
first regiment of cavalry ; the privates who belonged 
to it had the rank of officers and could obtain the 
cross of Saint Louis). 

In 1782, the pair came to Paris, took up their abode 
in furnished lodgings in the rue de la Yerrerie, where 
they lived in great poverty; in 1783, they were 
compelled to deposit their furniture with a wig- 
maker, through fear of the bailiff. Early in 1784, 
Madame de La Motte pledged her dresses and be- 
longings at the pawnbroker's. She was reduced 
to extreme poverty when suddenly a change came. 
All at once this woman who lived on charity had 
abundance of money. This is what had happened. 
Madame de La Motte had had an audience with the 
Cardinal de Rohan, and had besought him to trans- 
mit a petition to the King. The Cardinal thought 
his suppliant very pretty, and became interested in 
her fate. He was still more surprised when he 
learned in what want the court left the descendants 
of Henri IT. The petitioner's strongest arguments 
were her trim figure, her expressive blue eyes beneath 



THE COUNTESS BE LA MOTTE. 79 

arching black eyebrows, her fine teeth, her little 
foot, her aristocratic hand, her marvellously fair 
complexion. 

The prelate was fascinated; the bold adventuress 
saw that she had at last found her prey. Living in 
the days of society where smooth rascals regarded the 
most detestable villanies as excellent plans, she had 
chosen for her secretary, or rather for her accomplice, 
an old fellow-soldier of her husband in the gen- 
darmerie, a certain R^taux de Villette, who then was 
prowling between Paris and Versailles with no 
definite means of subsistence. This supple and 
insinuating man, who at any rate knew enough to 
turn off a letter, was required by Madame de La 
Motte for the correspondences she was soon to 
undertake. 

Her plan was soon made. The Cardinal was a 
libertine, she would address his passions ; he was 
thoroughly ambitious, she would direct that feeling. 
The prelate had confided to her that his grief, his 
torture, what poisoned all his happiness, was being in 
disgrace with Marie Antoinette. What would he 
not be willing to pay any one who would bring about 
a reconciliation with the Queen? He said to him- 
self that if he should become the favorite of Marie 
Antoinette, he would thereby be the absolute master 
of France, the Mazarin of a new Anne of Austria. 
This thought drove him almost wild, as Madame de 
La Motte saw, and she at once devised the means of 
ruining him. She suddenly pretended that her lot 



80 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

had changed, that fortune was smiling on her, that 
she had had many audiences with the Queen, and 
that Her Majesty had conferred many benefits on her, 
had made her a confidante, and wrote to her letters 
full of the most amiable feeling. 

This bold adventuress showed these pretended let- 
ters, which were written by a forger, to every comer, 
and offered her protection to her credulous victims. 
She convinced the Cardinal that she often spoke of 
him to the Queen, that she pleaded his cause with great 
skill, and that gradually she was bringing him to a 
high place in Her Majesty's favor. "The Queen," 
she said to him, " has commissioned me to ask you to 
give me your justification in writing." The prelate, 
full of hope at once, composed with eagerness the 
required apology, and Madame de La Motte told him 
that this memorial, which she had herself presented 
to Marie Antoinette, had done wonders. The Queen, 
she went on, asked of her future favorite only a little 
patience and a little discretion; but the day was 
drawing nigh when she should be able to throw aside 
the mask and to make a public announcement of the 
high positions to which he was to be called. Madame 
de La Motte urged the prelate to notice the Queen on 
such or such a day, at such or such an hour, when she 
should be entering the hall of the OEil de Boeuf ; Her 
Majesty would make him a sign with her head, which 
would confirm his hopes. 

The Grand Almoner, full of delight, noticed in fact 
that the Queen had moved her head, which was not 



THE COUNTESS BE LA MOTTE. 81 

at all surprising; and he was fatuous enough to 
imagine that this movement was the appointed signal 
mentioned by Madame de La Motte. What this 
adventuress now needed for the further carrying out 
of her devilish plot was a few sheets of gilt-edged 
letter paper. With these, aided by her customary 
accomplice, she forged a series of letters from the 
Queen to the Cardinal, who received with joy these 
alleged royal letters, and wrote answers which he 
thought that Madame de La Motte gave to the 
Queen. All this was in the months of May, June, 
and July, 1784. Madame de La Motte had a banker 
in the Cardinal, but all his revenues and treasures 
were scarcely sufficient to pay the debt of his grati- 
tude. Was there anything too fine for a Valois, for a 
woman who reconciled a man of his genius with his 
sovereign. It would be a mistake to suppose that 
Madame de La Motte 's luxury began only after the 
theft of the necklace. Nine months earlier, she was 
living extravagantly, thanks to two gifts of sixty 
thousand francs each, from the fund of the Grand 
Almoner and to a sum of thirty thousand francs 
assigned to her from the Cardinal's private purse. 

The fraud was everywhere triumphant, and yet 
Madame de La Motte was uneasy. Blind as he was, 
might not the Cardinal sooner or later discover the 
truth? Would he not notice the irregular and 
almost inexplicable contrast between the more than 
affectionate tone of the alleged letters of the Queen, 
and the cold, reserved, almost icy attitude which she 



82 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 



maintained in public before the man who already 
imagined himself her favorite? In the correspon- 
dence which passed through the hands of Madame 
de La Motte, the Cardinal was continually begging 
for an audience, which was always promised but 
never granted; and in spite of his blindness might 
he not form some vague suspicion? This danger 
had to be met ; it was necessary to find something 
that should absolutely corroborate his mistaken views, 
and make him sure that he had heard with his own 
ears, seen with his own eyes. Hence the scene in 
the grove, one of the most curious incidents of this 
strange and eventful drama. 

It was July, 1784. The first performance of the 
" Marriage of Figaro " had taken place on the 27tli 
of the previous April. The final scene, the nocturnal 
confusion under the shadows of the avenue of the 
chestnut-trees, had made a great impression, and it 
was possibly the sight of this that suggested to 
Madame de La Motte the first idea of the scene in 
the grove at Versailles. Her husband, strolling in 
the garden of the Palais Royal, had met a woman 
who in face and figure somewhat resembled the 
Queen. The likeness struck him, and he mentioned 
it to his wife, who bade him make the woman's ac- 
quaintance. She was a Miss d'Oliva, a woman of 
doubtful repute, who occupied a small apartment 
in the rue du Jour, near Saint Eustache. M. de La 
Motte followed her, made her several visits, and one 
evening told her that a woman of quality, a countess, 



THE COUNTESS BE LA MOTTE. 



who had often heard of her, would be brought to see 
her the next day. 

This was done, and Madame de La Motte had no dif- 
ficulty in cajoling the poor girl. She showed her the 
pretended letters of the Queen ; " You see," she said, 
"I am in Her Majesty's confidence. She has just 
given me a new proof of it, by asking me to find some 
one who can do something for her which will be ex- 
plained at the proper time. I come to propose it to 
you. If you consent, I will make you a present of 
fifteen thousand francs, and the Queen will make you 
an even larger present. I can't tell you now who I 
am, but you shall soon know." The d'Oliva was 
naturally delighted with such a windfall, and accepted 
without hesitation. The next day M. de La Motte 
went to her rooms for her, in the afternoon, and 
carried her with him to Versailles, to the H6tel de 
la Belle Image, Place Dauphin. The next day 
Madame de La Motte instructed her ignorant accom- 
plice in the part she was to play. She began by 
making her put on a white dress trimmed with red, 
and to throw over her head a thing called a therese. 
Then she gave her the necessary directions : '' This 
evening I shall take you to the park; a great noble- 
man will come up to you, and you will give him this 
letter, and' this rose, saying nothing but this, ' You 
know what this means ' ; that is all you will have to 
do." The d'Oliva, who was convinced that this 
little scene was desired by the Queen, for her own 
amusement, had no other thought than to play her 
part to the best of her ability. 



84 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

This was July 28, 1784. The Cardinal had re- 
ceived word from Madame de La Motte, to be that 
evening, at about ten o'clock, in the Versailles park, 
near the grove of Venus, where the Queen would 
at last grant him the interview he had so long 
desired. 

It was a very dark night ; no sound disturbed the 
mysterious silence of the park ; the Cardinal, full of 
hope, his imagination aglow with Heaven knows 
what visions of pride and pleasure, Avas eagerly await- 
ing the pretended rendezvous, the hour of triumph, 
the blissful moment, when the royal apparition should 
appear beneath the dark trees. Never had more ro- 
mantic dreams fired a man's ardent brain. Suddenly 
the Cardinal's more than amorous impatience was inter- 
rupted by the rustle of a dress. It was, he thought, 
the Queen of France and of Navarre, the majestic, 
poetic, enchanting Marie Antoinette, the first woman 
of the world. As soon as he saw the d'Oliva, whom 
he took for the Queen, he bowed low, murmuring 
some few words. The d'Oliva replied by offering 
him a rose, and saying in a voice broken by emotion, 
" You know what this means." Then Madame de La 
Motte appeared. " Come quick, quick ! " she ex- 
claimed. R^taux de Villette said, as if in alarm, 
'' Here is the Countess of Artois !" The d'Oliva dis- 
appeared like a shadow, and all was silent again. 

The Cardinal thought himself the happiest man in 
the world. Not only, he imagined, had the Queen 
pardoned him, but, as if by miracle, she had passed 



THE COUNTESS DE LA MOTTE. 85 

from hate to sympathy, and from sympathy to love. 
In proof of this tender feeling, she had given him a 
rose: a mystic gift! a cherished token! This rose 
he covered with ardent kisses ; he placed it with de- 
votion on his heart. He fancied himself transported 
to a delightful spot, some happy Eden, to a world of 
ineffable bliss. What he felt was no longer joy, in- 
toxication, delirium ; it was ecstasy. The mystifica- 
tion had succeeded even beyond Madame de La 
Motte's hopes. 

The next day the d'Oliva was shown an alleged 
letter from the Queen, which ran thus : " My dear 
Countess, I am delighted with the woman you se- 
lected; she played her part to perfection, and her 
future is assured." 

Some time later Madame de La Motte gave the 
Cardinal forged letters of the Queen, and asked him 
for one hundred and fifty thousand francs in behalf 
of persons in whom she was interested. He has- 
tened to give her the amount. The bold adventuress 
betook herself to Bar-sur-Aube with all this money, 
to dazzle the eyes of her old friends. Her house 
was filled with silverware, fine furniture, china, and 
jewels. She drove with four horses. In playing the 
princess, she was always accompanied by four lackeys 
carrying lighted torches, and by a negro all covered 
with silver. There could be no better preparation 
for some immense fraud, and Madame de La Motte 
thought that the time was ripe for carrying through 
the swindle of the necklace. 



IX. 



THE NECKLACE. 



THE famous affair of the necklace, which has 
been the subject of many commentaries and 
many hot discussions, is no longer obscure. A very 
careful student, M. Emile Compardon, has made it 
perfectly clear in a work which is corroborated in 
everything it says by the proceedings which took 
place before the Parliament of Paris. 

"To show that the diamond necklace, purchased 
in the name of Marie Antoinette, but without her 
knowledge, by the Cardinal de Rohan, was stolen, 
taken apart, and sold by the Count and Countess de 
La Motte-Valois ; 

" To prove this by the critical examination of the 
proceedings before the Parliament of Paris in this 
unhappy matter ; 

"To purge the Queen of the calumnies of her con- 
temporaries, which have been echoed by some later 
historians," — such is the aim which M. Compardon 
set himself in writing his book, Marie Antoinette 
and the Case of the Necklace. He has fully suc- 
ceeded in his intention ; and the more closely the 



THE NECKLACE. 87 



affair is studied, the juster and more fitting are tlie 
historian's conclusions. 

The Abbe Georgel, Grand Vicar of the Cardinal 
de Rohan, and the author of the curious Memoirs 
already mentioned, mentions at the end of his ac- 
count the four points below, as proved at the trial : — 

1. The Cardinal had been convinced that he was 
buying the necklace for the Queen. 

2. The authorization, signed " Marie Antoinette, 
of France," was really written by Villette, who com- 
mitted this forgery at the instigation of Madame de 
La Motte. 

3. The necklace was delivered to this lady. 

4. Her husband carried it, taken apart, to London, 
and sold the most valuable of the jewels for his own 
profit. 

Thanks to the Memoirs of the Abbe Georgel, of 
Madame Campan, of the Count Beugnot; thanks 
to the examination of the Cardinal de Rohan, of 
Madame de La Motte, of Cagliostro, of the d'Oliva, 
of Retaux de Villette, and to M. Compardon's clear 
and thorough book, all doubts are scattered and the 
truth is brought to light. 

Let us begin with saying where -it was that the 
necklace, which was destined to make so great a 
scandal, came from. The crown-jewellers, Boehmer 
and Bassenge, had made it by stringing together the 
most valuable diamonds on sale. Unfortunately for 
these men, diamonds had rather gone out of fashion 
in the French court. In that period of eclogues and 



88 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

idyls which was the prelude to such horrible tragedies, 
simplicity was all the rage. Marie Antoinette used 
to wear a dress of white linen, and a shepherdess's, 
preferring natural flowers to the most magnificent 
jewels. Nevertheless, the jewellers persuaded the 
first gentleman -in-waiting to show the necklace to 
Louis XVI., who was delighted with it, and had it 
shown to Marie Antoinette. 

The Queen thought the necklace very handsome, 
as, in fact, it was ; but she was averse to having any 
such sum spent upon her. Michelet says : " Royalty, 
as a religion, as a permanent miracle, requires glit- 
tering, dazzling splendors. The strange sparkles of 
a diamond serve as a fairy-like mystery, an aureole." 
Such was not Marie Antoinette's opinion. She said 
that diamonds were worn at court only about three 
or four times a year, that she already had enough, 
and that the money which the necklace would cost 
had better be spent in building a vessel of the state, 
which would be much more useful. Boehmer, one 
of the jewellers, was in despair at this refusal. He 
obtained an audience with the Queen, and told her, 
in great distress, that he should be ruined, and would 
drown himself, if the necklace were not bought. The 
Queen said to him : " The King wanted to give me 
the necklace; I declined it; so don't speak to me 
about it. Try to take it apart, and to sell it piece- 
meal ; and don't drown yourself." 

This was in December, 1778. The Queen had just 
given birth to her first child, Madame Royale (later 



THE NECKLACE. 89 



the Duchess of Angouleme), and Boehmer had hoped 
that the Queen would be glad to receive the necklace 
as a present on her recovery. The unhappy man's 
deception was cruel. He had staked all his fortune 
on this unrivalled ornament, and the idea of taking 
it apart shocked equally his tastes as an artist and 
his interests as a tradesman. He visited all the prin- 
cipal cities of Europe, in the hope of finding a pur- 
chaser for this marvel, but everywhere its high price 
— one million six hundred thousand francs — pre- 
vented his selling it. 

In the spring of 1785 preparations were made at 
Versailles to celebrate the baptism of the Duke of 
Angouleme, the son of the Count of Artois. On this 
occasion Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette presented 
the little prince with a shoulder-knot, buckles, and a 
sword set with diamonds. Boehmer, as crown-jeweller, 
was to supply the different objects. When he deliv- 
ered them to the Queen, he handed her a letter which 
ran thus : " Madame, we are perfectly happy at being 
allowed to think that the last arrangements which 
have been proposed to us, and to which we have con- 
sented with all zeal and respect, are a new proof of 
our submission and our devotion to Your Majesty's 
orders, and we take the profoundest satisfaction in 
thinking that the most sumptuous array of diamonds 
in the world will belong to the best and most beauti- 
ful of queens." 

Marie Antoinette, who could not understand this 
letter in the least, sent some one to recall the jeweller, 



90 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

that he might explain it; but he had disappeared. 
The Queen then said that the letter was another 
proof of Boehmer's addled wits, and, wanting to seal 
some letters, she burned it at the flame of a candle 
at her side. " There is no need to keep it," she said 
to Madame Campan ; then she went on : " This man 
always has a bee in his bonnet. Be sure and tell 
him, the first time you see him, that I don't care for 
diamonds any more, and that I shall never buy any 
more ; that, if I had to spend any money, I should 
much prefer enlarging the place at Saint Cloud by 
buying some of the land adjoining it. Go into all 
these details with him to convince him and impress 
it upon him." Madame Campan asked, " Does Your 
Majesty wish me to have him come to see me?" 
"No," answered the Queen; "it will do very well 
the first time you see him." 

A few days later, August 3, 1785, Madame Campan 
was at Crespy, at her father-in-law's, who gave a din- 
ner-party every Sunday. Boehmer used to come 
once or twice every Sunday, and he happened to come 
on that day. Madame Campan took advantage of 
the opportunity to give him the Queen's message. 
The jeweller was amazed. " There is some mystery 
here," he cried ; " I beg that you will let me have a 
talk with you, to explain the matter to you." They 
had their talk that evening, in the garden, when the 
other guests had left for Paris. The strange revela- 
tion filled Madame Campan with horror. She saw 
the horrible snare set for the Queen's reputation, and 



THE NECKLACE. 91 



she was so surprised and so affected that it began to 
rain and to thunder without her noticing it. 

Boehmer was not mad : like the Cardinal de Rohan, 
he had been the dupe of the boldest and most in- 
famous intrigue. 

What had happened ? At the end of the previous 
year, Madame de La Motte, who was always on the 
lookout for new frauds, had seen that the necklace 
might be the occasion of an unprecedented swindle, 
and her fertile imagination had been turned towards 
carrying it out. 

January 21, 1785, she had told Boehmer's partner 
that the Queen desired to purchase the necklace, 
which she had long wanted ; but that,' being averse 
to treating directly with the jewellers, she had en- 
trusted the matter to a certain great nobleman. 
Madame de La Motte added that she advised them 
to take every precaution with regard to this eminent 
personage. 

This eminent personage was the Cardinal de Rohan. 
What had the bold adventuress done ? By means of 
a steady fire of forged letters, she had succeeded in 
persuading the prelate that the Queen ardently de- 
sired the necklace, and that since she wished to get 
possession of it without her husband's knowledge and 
pay for it in instalments out of the money she might 
save from her own expenses, she gave the Grand Al- 
moner a special proof of friendliness by entrusting 
the purchase to him. He was to receive, Madame de 
La Motte added, an authorization written and signed 



92 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

by the Queen, and lie would have to arrange with the 
jewellers for the terms of payment. In the trans- 
action, which was to be concluded by the Cardinal 
alone, the Queen was not to be mentioned. Was not 
the secret authorization, signed by the Queen, a suf- 
ficient guarantee, Madame de La Motte asked, and 
did not the Queen thereby give the Cardinal a token 
of exceptional confidence? 

The prelate, still under the impression of the scene 
in the garden, did not hesitate for a moment. Be- 
sides, Cagliostro. had declared that the matter was 
quite worthy of the Cardinal, and that it would be 
the prelude to a whole series of triumphs in different 
directions. 

January 29, Boehmer and Bassenge went to the 
Cardinal's palace, rue Vieille du Temple, and signed 
a paper containing the conditions of the sale. The 
price of the necklace was one million six hundred 
thousand francs, payable in four instalments, at inter- 
vals of four months. 

January 31, Boehmer and Bassenge returned to the 
Cardinal's palace. The prelate showed them the 
contract, bearing the word "Approved," and the sig- 
nature " Marie Antoinette de France," both the handi- 
work of Madame de La Motte's usual forger. The 
affair was concluded, and the jewellers departed bliss- 
fully happy. 

The next day, February 1, the Cardinal, to whom 
the necklace had been delivered, went to Versailles, 
to the little lodging which Madame de La Motte oc- 



THE NECKLACE, 93 



cupied in the Place Dauphin ; he was accompanied by 
a servant, who carried the necklace in its case. The 
Cardinal had just handed it to Madame de La Motte, 
when she told him that the alleged confidential agent 
of the Queen was coming ; the Cardinal concealed 
himself in a closet with a glass door, and saw Madame 
de La Motte hand the case to Marie Antoinette's 
alleged messenger. The fraud was accomplished. 

From that day forth the de La Mottes lived in 
luxury, satisfying every desire, every whim. The 
golden stream was never dry. The source of their 
wealth was the necklace. This marvellous work of 
art, which the jewellers were surprised to observe 
that the Queen never wore, had been taken apart. 
Madame de La Motte kept for herself the small 
gems, those that could not be recognized, and the 
large ones she had sold in London. Monsieur Com- 
pardon has proved these sales from the original docu- 
ments ; the statements of the English jewellers who 
bought them remove every doubt. Besides, can it 
be maintained for a moment that if the Queen had 
had this necklace in her possession, she would not 
have worn it? 

Madame de La Motte was enraptured with the suc- 
cess of her fraud, and plunged into ever wilder ex- 
travagance ; but the hour of justice was approaching. 
Boehmer had learned all the truth from Madame 
Campan. He went straightway to Breteuil, the Min- 
ister, and revealed part of the story, mentioning the 
Cardinal, but saying nothing about Madame de La 



94 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



Motte. August 17, when the Queen was rehearsing 
the part of Rosina for the early performance of the 
" Barber of Seville," in the theatre of the Little Tri- 
anon, Madame Campan told her all she had learned 
from her talk with Boehmer. Marie Antoinette was 
filled with righteous indignation. "These hideous 
vices," she exclaimed, "must be unmasked. When 
the Roman purple and the title of prince conceal only 
a needy man, a swindler, who dares to compromise his 
sovereign's wife, all France and Europe must know 
it." August 9, Boehmer gave the Queen a written 
statement of the affair. August 15, at Versailles, 
in the Gallery of Mirrors, at the moment when the 
Cardinal, in his pontifical robes, was about to go to 
the chapel, he was arrested. 



X. 



THE ARREST. 



AT first the affair of tlie necklace seemed to be 
a wholly inexplicable enigma. The imagina- 
tion of a dramatist or of a novelist accustomed to the 
wildest inventions could have conceived nothing 
stranger. The first suggestion was that the Cardinal 
de Rohan, who, in spite of his colossal fortune and 
enormous revenues, owed many millions, had appro- 
priated the necklace to fill his purse, and to make 
good the deficit in the administration of the Blind 
Asylum. As to the idea that a prince of the house 
of Rohan, a former ambassador, a cardinal, a grand 
almoner of France, a principal of the Sorbonne, a 
member of the French Academy, an educated and 
intelligent man, could for more than a year have 
imagined himself the confidential agent, the favorite, 
of a queen who never spoke a word to him, it never 
crossed any one's mind. It was inconceivable that a 
man of such importance could have been the victim 
of such a stupid, such a clumsy fraud. 

More than one historian has blamed Marie Antoi- 
nette for not having suppressed the affair. But was 

95 



96 MAEiE Antoinette:, 

that an easy thing to do? The Cardinal was still 
convinced that he had not been deceived, that the 
Queen's letters were genuine ; that he had seen the 
Queen with his own eyes that evening in the garden, 
otherwise would he have consented to pay the one 
million six hundred thousand francs, demanded by 
Boehmer? What part, in that case, would Marie 
Antoinette have played in the eyes of her jewellers 
and their numerous confidants? To hush up the 
matter would have been equivalent to a confession 
of guilt and a corroboration of the supposition that 
there existed a shameful intrigue between the Queen 
of France and a licentious prelate. Marie Ant6i- 
nette's proud and loyal nature rejected such a course 
with dignity. And could a sense of religious decorum 
allow the entrusting of such a cardinal with the 
functions of Grand Almoner ? Could he continue to 
officiate at great ceremonies in this Versailles chapel, 
where his presence would be an insult to altar and 
throne ? Should such a priest baptize the royal chil- 
dren ! give the holy communion to the Very Christian 
King and Queen, and have charge of the religious 
instruction of the royal family and the court ? And 
how could he be disgraced without making his fault 
public, .without throwing a full light on the blackness 
of such a plot ? 

The Baron de Breteuil and the Abb^ de Vermond, 
who were enemies of the Cardinal, had no difficulty 
in convincing the Queen that it was her duty once 
for all to put an end to this combination of secret 



THE ARREST. 97 



calumny and hidden intrigue, an invisible but deadly 
network, in which wretches were endeavoring to 
envelop her reputation. The blood of Maria Theresa 
flowed in the veins of this daughter of the Cgesars. 
She had a feeling of indignation and wrath which 
carried away the most good-natured of kings. Made 
more beautiful by her tears and her emotion, Marie 
Antoinette, calumniated and insulted, as Queen and 
as a woman, asked justice from her husband. Were 
swindling, infamous forgers to be allowed with im- 
punity to trifle with the Royal Majesty, and to pol- 
lute the most august names with their scandals and 
orimes ? It was in vain that cautious politicians, like 
the Count of Vergennes, for example, tried to urge 
gentle measures ; the Queen, impatient and angered, 
with the exaltation that gives to innocence the feel- 
ing of justice, of right, of honor, wished instantly 
to have truth given to the world. 

It was August 15, 1785, Assumption Day; already 
the candles had been lit in the chapel of the Ver- 
sailles palace ; the courtiers were waiting in the 
Gallery of the Mirrors for the King and Queen to 
issue from their apartments, to go to mass. In the 
midst of this brilliant throng was the Cardinal de 
Rohan, who was about to officiate in his capacity of 
Grand Almoner, and was already wearing his pon- 
tifical robes. It was about midday. Suddenly the 
Cardinal was summoned to the King's room. Louis 
XVI., Marie Antoinette, the Baron de Breteuil, 
Keeper of the Seals and Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
were all there. 



98 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

The King, when he saw the Cardinal approach 
him, asked him : — 

"Have you bought any diamonds of Boehmer?" 

"Yes, Sire." 

" What have you done with them ? " 

"I thought that they had been delivered to the 
Queen." 

" Who entrusted this business to you ? " 

"A lady named the Countess de La Motte-Valois, 
who gave me a letter from the Queen, and I thought 
to pay my court to the Queen by taking charge of 
this business." 

Then Marie Antoinette broke out : — 

" What, sir, could you think that I, who have not 
spoken to you for eight years, could have chosen you 
for this business, and through a woman like her?" 

The Cardinal answered : — 

" I see that I have been cruelly deceived ; I will 
pay for the necklace. My desire to please Your 
Majesty blinded me ; I did not detect any trickery, 
and I am sorry for it." 

Then he drew from his pocket a notebook whence 
he took out the alleged letter from the Queen to 
Madame de La Motte. He looked at Marie Antoi- 
nette, fancying that he was about to crush her. But 
what was not his amazement when Louis XVI., hav- 
ing glanced at the letter, said : — 

" That is not the Queen's writing or the Queen's 
signature. How could a prince of the house of 
Rohan, a Grand Almoner, have imap^ined that the 



THE ARBE8T. 99 



Queen signed ' Marie Antoinette of France ' ? Every 
body knows that queens sign only with their baptis- 
mal names." 

This remark was a revelation to the guilty and 
unhappy Cardinal. He was already turning pale 
when the King showed him a copy of a letter he had 
written to the jeweller. 

"Sir," then said Louis XVI., "have you written a 
letter like this?" 

" I do not remember writing it." 

" And if you should be shown the original signed 
by you?" 

" If the letter has my signature, it is genuine." 

" Explain this whole mystery; I do not want to find 
you guilty, I desire your justification. Tell me what 
is the meaning of all this affair with Boehmer, — these 
promises and notes." 

The Cardinal, in his emotion, could scarcely stand. 
Leaning, to support himself, against a table, he stam- 
mered, "Sire, I am too much agitated to answer 
Your Majesty in a proper — " 

" Control yourself. Cardinal, and go into my study ; 
there you will find paper, pens, and ink ; put down 
what you have to say in writing." 

The Cardinal went into the King's study and 
dashed off a few lines. 

The Queen afterwards stated that she then was 
seized by a great panic, imagining that possibly the 
Cardinal, in order to ruin her, had set a horrible 
snare. Perhaps he was going to maintain that she 



100 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

had received the necklace and was about to mention 
some secret spot in the palace where some accomplice 
had concealed it. This fear was groundless. In a 
few minutes the Cardinal came back; his written 
defence no clearer, no more satisfactory than had been 
his oral explanations. Then Louis XVI. said to him, 
" Withdraw, sir." 

The Cardinal at once left the King's room, and 
re-entered the Gallery of the Mirrors. The courtiers 
did not know what had happened, and imagined that 
he was going to the chapel. He had acquired con- 
trol over his face which betrayed no agitation. It is- 
easy to conceive the general emotion when suddenly 
the Baron de Breteuil was seen to turn to an ensign 
of the body-guard and heard to say, "Arrest the 
Cardinal de Rohan." It v>^as like a thunderbolt. 

The prelate could not look forward without terror 
to the fate that awaited him if the letters which he 
had received from Madame de La Motte should fall 
into the hands of justice. These letters were in 
Paris, at his palace, rue Vieille du Temple, in a little 
red letter-case. At the very moment of the catas- 
trophe he showed great presence of mind. The 
young ensign who had been ordered to arrest him, 
preserved a respectful attitude. The Cardinal, who 
had just left the Gallery of the Mirrors, saw his ser- 
vant at the door of the drawing-room of Hercules, 
and he said to him a few words in German. Then 
he asked the ensign for a lead-pencil. The officer at 
once gave him one which he had in his pocket. The 



THE ABBEST. 101 



Cardinal wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper, which 
he gave to his man. A moment later the man 
mounted his horse and dashed away at full speed, 
reaching the palace in a very short time ; there he 
burned all the letters in the red portfolio. Soon the 
lieutenant of police arrived, but it was too late. 

Nevertheless, the Cardinal was locked up in the 
Bastille, where he was received by the governor, one 
of his friends. Louis XVI., who was always good- 
nature itself, had said, speaking of the new prisoner, 
"I do not wish his ruin, but in his own interest I 
must make sure of his person." At the Bastille, the 
Cardinal wa§ lodged in the apartment of the King's 
lieutenant. He was at liberty to see his counsel and 
his relatives, and whenever he desired, to Avalk in the 
governor's garden. He had two valets de chambre 
at his orders. According to the Abbe Georgel, his 
table was served as became his birth and position. 
All the officials were eager to diminish for him the 
discomforts of captivity ; but his heart, tortured more 
by spite than by remorse, was the prey of the liveliest 
fear and anguish. 

What had become of Madame de La Motte mean- 
while? August 17 she was supping two leagues 
from Bar-sur-Aube, in the famous Abbey of Clairvaux, 
where great preparations were making for the festival 
of Saint Bernard, August 20. This year it was the 
Abb^ Maury, later well known for his success in the 
tribune, who was to pronounce the panegyric on the 
saint. At that time the superior of the Abbey was a 



102 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

man of great elegance, Dom Rocourt, who had an 
income of three or four hundred thousand francs and 
never travelled except in a carriage with four horses, 
and an outrider in front. Dom Rocourt knew about 
the relations of the Cardinal de Rohan with Madame 
de La Motte; hence, says the Count Beugnot, he 
treated her " like a princess of the Church." 

They were awaiting the arrival of the Abbe Maury 
before sitting down to table. Nine o'clock had just 
struck, but he had not come, and they had decided 
to sup without him ; but hardly had they taken their 
places when the sound of carriage wheels was heard. 
It was the Abbe Maury. Dom Rocourt went to greet 
him and made him sit down at table at once. Then 
he was asked what was the news in Paris. 

" The news," he answered, " you ask ? There's 
a piece of news which no one understands, which 
puzzles all Paris. The Cardinal de Rohan was ar- 
rested last Tuesday, Assumption Day, in his pontifi- 
cal robes, on leaving the King's study. Does any one 
know why? No, not exactly. Something has been 
said about a diamond necklace wliich he was to 
have bought for the Queen and did not buy. It is 
inconceivable that for such a trifle the Grand Al- 
moner of France should have been arrested in his 
pontifical robes, — you understand, in his pontifical 
robes, — on leaving the King's study." 

When Madame de La Motte heard the Abb^ Maury, 
she dropped her napkin and turned pale. She left 
the table, ordered a carriage, and set out at once for 



THE ABBEST. 103 



her house at Bar-sur-Aube. That night she burned all 
the letters she had received from the Cardinal. The 
next day, the 18th, she was arrested at ftYe in the 
morning, at once carried to Paris and imprisoned in the 
Bastille. As yet there was no order for her husband's 
arrest. Five days later he was sought, but he had 
left Bar-sur-Aube, fleeing to England, where he could 
not be arrested. 

Retaux de Villette also fled to foreign parts, going 
to Geneva ; but he was rash enough to walk in the 
neighborhood, on French territory, and there he Avas 
arrested and locked up in the Bastille with the rest. 

As to the d'Oliva, whose presence was necessary 
for the examination, she sought refuge in Brussels, 
but the Versailles cabinet soon secured her extradi- 
tion. She, too, was put in the Bastille, which held all 
the guilty persons except M. de La Motte. The trial 
could begin. 



XI. 

THE TRIAX,. 

AN incident like that of the necklace could only 
happen in a society where the monarchical prin- 
ciple had lost its strength and glory. It has been said 
with perfect truth that the very fact that there was a 
trial was a sign of the times. In the letters-patent 
of September 5, 1785, wherein Louis XVI. informed 
the Parliament of Paris of the affair, we find the 
words : " We have not been able to see without just 
indignation that an august name, dear to us in many 
ways, has been boldly taken, and that the respect 
due to the Royal Majesty has been violated with un- 
heard-of insolence." Was it not strange that the 
Parliament should be called on to investigate 
whether the statements made by the King in public 
letters were true or false? How could the magis- 
trates be asked to pass upon the King's assertions ? 
Either there should have been no letters-patent of 
this sort, or there should have been no trial. 

Before reaching this decision, Louis XVI. had 
proposed to the Cardinal to choose between casting 
himself on his clemency and being brought before 

104 



THE TRIAL. 106 



the Parliament. The prelate discussed the plan he 
should adopt with his advocates, Target, Tronchet, 
Collet, and de Bonni^res. Tronchet urged appealing 
to the royal clemency; Target, on the other hand, 
dissuaded his client from this course. This difference 
reminds us that one day Tronchet was boldly to 
defend Louis XYL, while Target declined this noble 
duty. Possibly the advocates who urged a trial fan- 
cied that the Cardinal's acquittal would be a blow to 
the Queen. It will be well to notice the conduct 
during the debates before the Parliament of these 
men who formed, as it were, the advance line of the 
Revolution : d'Espremenil, Fretteau, Robert de Saint 
Vincent, H^rault de Sechelles. 

At first, the Cardinal had been wholly prostrated ; 
but when he learned that his correspondence with 
Madame de La Motte — those absurd letters which 
would have overwhelmed him with ridicule and 
infamy — had been burned ; when he saw the incon- 
ceivable movement of public opinion in his favor, 
which was due to hatred of the Queen ; when he 
perceived the energetic measures of his intelligent 
grand vicar, the Abbe Georgel, — he became more 
confident, and decided not to appeal to the royal 
clemency, but to stand trial. Consequently, he wrote 
to the King : " Sire, I very respectfully thank Your 
Majesty for the alternative offered to me ; I have no 
hesitation in preferring the Parliament as the surest 
means of unmasking the intrigue of which I am the 
victim, and of proving my good faith and innocence." 



106 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

According to the old rules, the competent tribunal 
would have been an ecclesiastical court. But can 
one imagine a council of bishops passing judgment 
on a necklace, deciding a gross swindle, and pro- 
nouncing between a cardinal and a woman of doubt- 
ful reputation ? Nevertheless, when the Pope, learned 
that a prince of the Church was submitting himself 
to lay jurisdiction, he was deeply moved by this 
renunciation of ancient privilege, and summoned a 
consistory, which declared unanimously that the 
Cardinal de Rohan had sinned against his dignity as 
a member of the Holy College, by recognizing the 
authority of the Parliament, that he was suspended 
for six months, and that, if he persisted, his name 
should be stricken from the list of cardinals. 

But the prelate had taken the precaution to insert 
a protest against lay jurisdiction in a petition to the 
Parliament. A doctor of the Sorbonne was sent to 
Rome, to carry to the Pope a copy of this document ; 
and he persuaded his Holiness that if the Cardinal 
had, to his great regret, and despite his formal pro- 
test, accepted the jurisdiction of a lay tribunal, it 
was because he had been compelled to bow before 
the royal authority. The Vatican accepted this ex- 
planation, and the Prince of Rohan was restored to 
his rights and honors as Cardinal. 

The Parliament, then, had jurisdiction in this 
matter. What imprudence, what a false move on 
the part of the government, to submit a case like 
this to an assembly already agitated by revolutionary 



THE TRIAL. 107 



feelings, to an ambitious body, full of rancor against 
the authority of the crown ! What a revenge for this 
Parliament — persecuted, curbed, exiled by Louis 
XV. — to decide on the fame of his successor's wife ! 
What a gratification for these limbs of the law to 
have to judge between a queen and a prince of the 
Church ! With what rapture these gallant magis- 
trates — more interested in Venus than in Themis, to 
use the language of that time — would enjoy the 
importunities and solicitations of the prettiest women 
in Paris, of the great ladies related or connected by 
interest with the great house of Rohan ! 

The revolutionary feeling was not mistaken; the 
affair was a huge scandal, and a possibly irreparable 
onslaught against the principle of authority. Conse- 
quently, public opinion was aroused about this drama 
which suited so well the tastes and instincts of the 
time. All classes of society were interested. The 
nobility could not comprehend that a Rohan, inno- 
cent or guilty, should be accused. All the ecclesias- 
tics, from the humblest abbd to the archbishops and 
cardinals, refused to admit that a prince of the 
Church could be submitted to secular jurisdiction. 
The philosophers delighted to see a queen contest- 
ing with a cardinal. The magistrates were puffed up 
with their own importance ; the advocates were de- 
lighted to publish papers which were printed in vast 
numbers and made the reputation of their authors. 
The idlers and the gossips — and Heaven knows if 
there is any lack of them in a city like Paris — were 



108 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

amused beyond measure at this legal entertainment 
which fed the public curiosity and love of scandal. 
For nine months this strange affair of the necklace 
was the subject of perpetual discussion in the court 
and the city. The suburbs, too, took part, and dema- 
gogues yet unknown gave lessons in hatred and con- 
tempt. 

Curiously enough, the scandals in the life of the 
Cardinal de Rohan seemed perfectly natural to his 
contemporaries. He was looked upon as a gentle- 
man of distinguished gallantry. His appointment to 
the post of Grand Almoner of France seemed most 
natural and appropriate. This society, with all its 
democratic tendencies, was still infatuated with titles 
and coat-of-arms. The Cardinal was admired for his 
extravagance, his noble bearing, his grand air. It 
never occurred to any one to blame him for having 
contributed to Madame de La Motte's support out of 
his revenues as Grand Almoner. No one blamed him 
for consorting with charlatans, swindlers, and demi- 
reps. These things did not prevent his being looked 
on as a virtuous and sensible man, to use the lan- 
guage of that time. Every one sympathized with 
him ; it was the fashion in high society to wear red 
and yellow ribbons, the color of " the Cardinal on the 
straw." 

There were people ready to condemn Marie Antoi- 
nette, who believed, or pretended to believe, that 
after obstinately refusing the necklace when her hus- 
band offered it to her, she had had it given to her by 



THE TBIAL. 109 



Madame de La Motte and the Cardinal de Rohan ; 
that she had arranged the whole matter as a snare 
for the Cardinal, whose lack of favor was notorious. 
There were people credulous or malicious enough to 
maintain that the Queen of France could be seduced 
by a gift of jewelry, and that she gave assignations 
at night in the park of Versailles. To whom? To the 
Grand Almoner, a priest fifty years old. But calumny 
halts at nothing; hate never reasons; when men's 
fancies are so foul and such gross fables find cur- 
rency, we may be sure that the Revolution was not 
far off. 

The affair of the necklace, serious and fatal as it 
was, was yet treated almost derisively. One might 
have said that the only desire of the advocates was 
to distract and amuse the public ; they indulged in 
the most grotesque extravagances. Maitre Doitot, 
Madame de La Motte's advocate, led off with a pam- 
phlet, "the wildest that ever fell from a lawyer's 
pen ; it was no less successful because it was the 
preface of the thousand and one nights and it was the 
work of an old fellow of seventy," (Memoirs of the 
Count of Beugnot). The memorial drawn up for 
Cagliostro by Maitre Thilorier was even more suc- 
cessful. The house of this famous worker of won- 
ders was besieged by a multitude eager to buy this 
singular production, and it was necessary to post 
guards at the door. Maitre Thilorier spoke about the 
subterraneous galleries of Memphis, whence his hero 
had issued ; of the labyrinth of the Pyramids, where he 



110 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

had been brought up; of his career of mysteries and 
miracles. The advocate, who was an intelligent man, 
was the first to laugh at this ridiculous story ; but the 
public deemed it just and proper. 

Maitre Polverit had charge of the defence of Cag- 
liostro's wife, Serafina Feliciani. In his memorial, a 
masterpiece of bombast, he said of his client : '' En- 
dowed with a beauty such as no other woman possesses, 
she is not a model of tenderness, gentleness, and res- 
ignation ; no, for she does not even suspect the ex- 
istence of the opposite faults : her character offers to 
us poor human beings the ideal of a perfection which 
we may adore, but which we cannot comprehend." 
As to the memorial drawn up in the name of the 
d'Oliva, " it touched every tender heart," says the 
Abbe Georgel, " by the frankness of her confessions. 
Its style had the fresh coloring which poets attribute 
.to the Queen of Cnidius and Paphos." What made 
the young woman still more interesting was, that 
she gave birth to a child in the Bastille, which she 
nursed herself. 

Meanwhile, the Abbe Georgel was preparing his 
patron's defence with equal zeal and intelligence. 
He gave directions to the lawyers, brought influence 
to bear on the judges, set every secret spring in 
motion. Every day he wore out six horses in hurry- 
ing from one place to another. He slept every night 
only three or foUr hours. With the aid of two secre- 
taries, he managed everything, took charge of the 
Cardinal's affairs, bringing them into order, reducing 



THE TBIAL. Ill 



his extravagant expenditures in his palace at Saverne 
and in his mansion at Paris, satisfying Boehmer and 
Bassenge, and securing their payment by means of 
instalments from the revenues of the Abbey of Saint 
Waast. 

The Abbe Georgel as Grand Vicar especially ex- 
ulted in his power of giving spiritual comfort. In 
one of his epistles, Saint Paul, who was in captivity, 
exhorts his disciple, Saint Timothy, not to be ashamed 
of his prison and to give in his name the bread of the 
word to the faithful. The Abbe Georgel, in the 
absence of the Cardinal de Kohan, having to prepare 
the charge for Lent in 1786, judged it necessary to 
begin with quoting from this epistle. " The charge 
which was very successful," said the Grand Vicar, 
" was nothing but a happy combination of texts from 
Holy Writ, arranged to suit the circumstances." It 
was posted on the doors and sacristies of the chapel 
in the palace at Versailles, of the Blind Asylum, and 
of the Convent of the Nuns of the Assumption in 
Paris ; but this was regarded as an improper proceed- 
ing. Louis XVI. was assured that by comparing 
the prisoner of the Bastille to Saint Paul, the Abbe 
Georgel implied a comparison between his King and 
Nero, and the over-zealous Grand Vicar was sent to 
exile in the provinces. 

The examination advanced slowly, and the public 
awaited the results with eager curiosity. The Prince 
of Cond^, who had married a princess of the house of 
Rohan, the Marshal of Soubise and the Countess of 



112 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Marsan, who both belonged to this family, spared no 
pains to save the Cardinal. 

M. Pierre de Laurencel, the substitute of the 
Attorney-General, sent to the Queen a list of names 
of members of the High Court of Justice, with a 
statement of the means employed by the Cardinal's 
friends to secure their votes in the trial. "I had 
charge of this list," says Madame Campan, "among 
the papers which the Queen entrusted to my father- 
in-law. I have burned it, but I remember that 
many women figured in it in a way that cast no 
credit on their morals. It was by them, and by 
the large sums of money which they had received, 
that the oldest and most venerable persons were 
bribed." 

Still light gradually broke, and the perfect inno- 
cence of the Queen began to appear indisputable. 
Could the most prejudiced imagine for a moment that 
Marie Antoinette would have wished to buy secretly 
a necklace which could only have been agreeable to 
her if she wore it? And even supposing, against 
every probability, that she desired this jewel merely 
to lock it up among her jewels, was it possible to 
believe that she would have chosen to make the pur- 
chase, a bishop, the Grand Almoner, a man extremely 
distasteful to her, to whom she had not spoken for 
eight years ? On the other hand, it was proved that 
she had never had the slightest relations with Madame 
de La Motte; and Rdtaux de Villette confessed that 
he had written with his own hand on the contract 



THE TRIAL. 113 



between the Cardinal and the jewellers, the words : 
" Approved. Marie Antoinette de France." 

With equal frankness, the d'Oliva disclosed the 
part she had played in the scene in the park. Finally, 
the Cardinal himself declared that he had been 
deceived, and reproached Madame de La Motte with 
all impostures of which she had been guilty. Her 
line of defence was inadmissible. " It is the Cardinal 
who stole the necklace," she said ; " it was in accord- 
ance with his orders that my husband and I had the 
diamonds separated and sold. The luxury with which 
I am reproached and which is alleged to have come 
from the sale of the necklace is really the result of 
the benefits bestowed on me by my friends, and 
especially by the Cardinal." 

No, the Prince de Rohan, the Grand Almoner of 
France, was not a rogue or a thief ; he was a man of 
wild ambitions, a coxcomb deluded by an adventuress 
of rare audacity, skill, and charm. The enigma was 
made clear; the Cardinal had been the dupe of a 
huge deception. But one very serious fact remained 
equally clear : that the prelate had entered into rela- 
tions with a worthless woman to buy a necklace for 
the Queen, against the King's wishes, and that his 
intrigues, his hopes, the part he played in the scene 
in the garden, were so many insults to the Queen's 
honor, to the royal dignity. " That was the crime," 
said Count Beugnot, "the crime for which respect 
for religion, for the Royal Majesty, and for morality, 
all of which had been outraged, demanded punish- 



114 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

ment." The trial lasted nine months, amid an excite- 
ment which grew from day to day; never had the 
public curiosity been so thoroughly aroused as on 
the day when the Parliament was to render the long- 
expected verdict. 



XII. 



THE VERDICT. 



ALL Paris was in expectation, May 29, 1786, 
when the assembled Parliament was at last 
about to render its judgment. In the night between 
the 29th and the 30th, the prisoners were transferred 
from the Bastille to the Conciergerie. Who would 
have said that the moment when the illegitimate de- 
scendant of the Yalois was entering this fatal place, 
that seven years later, the legitimate daughter of the 
German Csesars, the Queen of France and Navarre, 
would also cross the threshold of this prison ? 

May 30, the Parliament opened its morning sitting, 
and the persons accused were introduced in turn. 
The first to appear was Madame de La Motte, who 
could not restrain a movement of horror on seeing 
the final preparations. Then she cast a bold glance 
upon the judges, and persisting in her plan of de- 
fence, she denied everything. 

Then came the Cardinal's turn. The President, 
d'Aligre, had the stool of repentance removed. The 
Grand Almoner wore a long violet robe, the mourn- 
ing dress of cardinals. His stockings and his cap 

115 



116 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

were red. He wore his orders crosswise around his 
neck. Pale and serious, he entered with an air of 
dignity and sadness which impressed the judges, who 
were already well disposed towards him. Thrice the 
First President invited him most politely to be 
seated, and those of the judges who questioned him 
expressed marked sympathy and deference. When 
he said, "I was completely blinded by my intense 
desire to regain the Queen's good graces," every face 
showed thorough approval. When he had finished 
speaking, he arose and saluted the court as he with- 
drew. They all arose and returned his salute. 

The deliberation was long and stormy. The judges 
were divided into two hostile camps : the defenders 
of the Queen, and her enemies. Her defenders 
wished some stigma to be placed upon the man who 
had dared to insult the Royal Majesty: the others 
had a very different aim ; they demanded an acquittal, 
pure and simple, for the Cardinal, and thus, implicitly, 
a condemnation of Marie Antoinette. 

The Attorney-General, Joly de Fleury, demanded 
the following verdict, so far as the Cardinal was 
concerned: — 

"Louis Ren^ Edouard de Rohan is compelled to 
declare in court, in the presence of the Attorney- 
General, the High Court of Justice assembled, that 
it is without reason that he permitted himself to 
believe in a false and imaginary nocturnal interview 
on the terrace of Versailles ; 

" That it is rashly, ignorantly, and without assur- 



THE VERDICT. 117 



ance of the wishes of the King and the Queen, that 
he undertook and carried on negotiations with Boeh- 
mer and Bassenge concerning the purchase of the 
diamond necklace ; 

"That, after the necklace was given to him, he, by 
^ false and fabricated assertions, continued to encour- 
age the aforesaid Boehmer and Bassenge in the belief 
of the genuineness of the purchase, and that, by his 
own confession, even after being convinced by exam- 
ination that the ' approved ' and the signature were 
false, he has, by continued misuse of the Queen's 
name, made to the aforesaid Boehmer and Bassenge, 
a payment of thirty thousand francs, of which he has 
taken a receipt in the Queen's name ; 

" That he repent and ask pardon of the King and 
Queen for having had the temerity to lack the respect 
due to their sacred persons ; 

" It is required that it be forbidden to the afore- 
said de Rohan to approach the Royal palaces and all 
other places where the King and Queen may reside, 
until it shall please the King to order otherwise ; 

" It is ordered that in the term to be fixed by the 
court, the aforesaid de Rohan shall be compelled to 
resign the post and honor of Grand Almoner of 
France, with which the King has honored him ; 

" The aforesaid de Rohan is condemned to the pay- 
ment of such sums to be bestowed in charity as shall 
please the court; 

"It is ordered that the aforesaid de Rohan shall 
remain in prison until he shall have obeyed and 



118 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

satisfied the judgment whicli shall have been ren- 
dered." 

This verdict would have been an act of respect for 
the Queen ; but they were very far from being satis- 
factory to the princes and princesses of the house of 
Conde, with which the Cardinal was connected, or to 
the families of Rohan, Soubise, and Guemenee, the 
members of which had put on mourning, and in this 
gloomy attire lined the passages through which the 
members of the High Court had to pass. On the 
other hand, the revolutionary spirit desired simply 
to wound and distress the Queen. Fifteen judges 
adopted purely and simply the verdict of the Attor- 
ney-General ; eight others favored the gentler opinion 
of the President d'Ormesson, who desired that the 
Cardinal should make full amends, but should keep 
his functions and honors. It may be truly said that 
this last opinion was moderation itself, yet to the 
enemies of Marie Antoinette it appeared too severe. 
Robert de Saint Vincent made a speech in which he 
condemned the publicity given to the trial, and 
denounced the King and Queen for not having a min- 
ister wise enough to save them from thus compro- 
mising the majesty of the throne. Finally, after 
deliberating eighteen hours, the Cardinal's friends 
carried the day by a majority of three. 

May 31, 1786, at nine in the evening, the Parlia- 
ment pronounced its judgment. The Cardinal and 
Cagliostro were acquitted purely and simply ; M. de 
La Motte was condemned in default to the galleys 



THE VERDICT. 119 



for life, and Retaux de Yillette to banishment. In the 
same judgment the Parliament condemned Madame 
de La Motte "to be beaten, naked, with a rope 
round her neck ; and to be branded with the letter V 
(yoleuse) on the two shoulders by the public execu- 
tioner ; this done, to be carried to the House of Cor- 
rection of the Salpetriere, where she is to be detained 
and imprisoned for life." As for the d'Oliva, she was 
simply acquitted. The judgment furthermore de- 
clared that the word, " Approved," and the signature, 
"Marie Antoinette de France," falsely ascribed to 
the Queen, had been fraudulently placed on the mar- 
gin of the writing entitled : " Propositions and Condi- 
tions concerning the Price and Mode of Payment of 
the Necklace." 

There was not in the whole judgment a single 
word condemning the Cardinal ; and no mention was 
made of his relations with Madame de La Motte or 
of the scene in the park. Count Beugnot says very 
justly in his Memoirs : " Even now, when the Revo- 
lution has only too far weakened the feeling of re- 
spect for the Royal Family, even now, who can imagine 
that the Parliament looked upon the scene in the 
garden of Versailles merely as a swindle and the 
participants as merely swindlers and their victim? 
The Revolution was already complete in the minds 
of those who could consider such an insult to the 
King, in the person of the Queen, with this culpable 
indifference and insolent composure." 

At the moment when the verdict was rendered a 



120 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

vast crowd was assembled in the neighborhood of the 
Palais de Justice, and uproarious applause broke 
forth at the news of his acquittal. When the judges 
were leaving the palace, the multitude kissed their 
hands and flung themselves on their knees, amid the 
most enthusiastic applause. 

Applaud, ye calumniators of Marie Antoinette ! You 
are only at the beginning of your career of hatred and 
savage joy. Other pleasures await you in the trib- 
unes of the Jacobins and in those of the Convention, 
before the Conciergerie and at the foot of the scaffold ! 

The Cardinal received most enthusiastic ovations 
on his return to his house in the rue Vieille du 
Temple ; but a few hours later he received from 
Louis XVI. the command to send back the ribbon of 
the Holy Ghost and to hand in his resignation of the 
post of Grand Almoner. Moreover, a lettre de cachet 
exiled him to his abbey of the Chaise-Dieu, in Au- 
vergne. Yet, strange as it may seem, the Abb^ 
Georgel was surprised, or feigned surprise, at this per- 
fectly natural event. " Who could have imagined," 
he said in his Memoirs, " that so glorious a day could 
be followed by a day of disgrace and exile ? Were 
we not justified in expecting that the King, in his 
delight at finding innocence where he had suspected 
guilt, would manifest his love of justice by bestowing 
on the Grand Almoner the highest marks of favor?" 
Could the Abbe Georgel have supposed that the 
Cardinal was to be appointed Prime Minister on the 
day after the verdict was given ? 



THE VERDICT. 121 



According to the Baron de Besenval, on the other 
hand, "every sensible person understood that the 
King was showing his aversion to the Cardinal who 
had dared so boldly and indecently to compromise 
the Queen ; it was impossible that he should keep his 
place any longer, and as for his exile, he had well 
deserved it." Such was doubtless the opinion of 
reasonable people, but reasonable people were rare in 
Paris in 1786. The day of his departure, the Car- 
dinal saw a vast multitude thronging the courtyards 
of his house and calling him to the windows; he 
appeared there and gave the crowd his episcopal 
blessing. 

The Abbe Georgel, whose capacity for surprise is 
really extraordinary, could not understand that Marie 
Antoinette should not have been pleased with the 
verdict. "Is it credible," he exclaims, "that the 
news of the Cardinal's triumph had to be broken to 
the Queen very gently ? No one wished to announce 
the result to her. Her dearest friend, the Duchess 
of Polignac, was induced to tell her." Yes, Marie 
Antoinette had measured with a glance the abyss 
which calumny and hate were opening before her; 
she perceived how far the treachery and malice of 
her enemies would go. " Come," she said to Madame 
Campan, " come, pity your insulted Queen, the vic- 
tim of intrigues and injustice. But I, for my part, 
will pity you as a Frenchwoman. If I, in a matter 
which concerned my character, failed to find upright 
judges, what can you expect if you should have a 



122 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

law case in which your fortune and your fame were 
at stake?" 

Weber records that it was on this occasion, in 
speaking of the infamous calumnies of which she 
began to be the object, that Marie Antoinette uttered 
these admirable words, so worthy of her noble heart : 
"It seems as if malice had coolly devised every pos- 
sible way of wounding me ; but I shall triumph over 
my enemies by trebling the good I have tried to do ; 
it is easier for certain people to distress me, than to 
compel me to revenge myself." 

What was the fate of the different persons who 
figured in this affair of the necklace ? Louis XVI. 
treated the Cardinal with no excess of severity ; the 
prelate, finding that the Abbey of the Chaise-Dieu, 
among the mountains of Auvergne, was an unfavora- 
ble place for his health, received permission from the 
King to reside at his Abbey of Marmoutier, near 
Tours. Soon afterwards, he was allowed to return 
to Strasburg, where he resumed the direction of his 
diocese. When the Revolution broke out, he with- 
drew to that part of his bishopric which lay on the 
other side of the Rhine. His noble conduct, his gen- 
erous aid to the emigres, a marked improvement in 
his morals, compensated for his past misdeeds, and 
his long scandalous life came to a Christian end : he 
died peacefully at Ettenheim, February 16, 1803. 

Cagliostro, on the day after he left the Bastille, 
received orders to leave France without delay. He 
went to England, and afterwards to Switzerland and 



THE VEBBIGT. 123 



Italy. This singular character, who, after all, was 
no ordinary man, — this philanthropic magician, who, 
with all his frauds, had yet a fascinating side, and 
humored the omnipresent taste for the supernatural, 
— ended his singular and eventful life in sad circum- 
stances. He was arrested in Rome, in 1789, as a 
Freemason, and condemned to death by the Inquisi- 
tion ; this sentence having been commuted to impris- 
onment for life, he was confined in the Castle of Saint 
Leon, and there he died in 1795. 

The d'Oliva, whose fame was magnified by the 
affair of the necklace, received many proposals of 
marriage. She chose for her husband one of her 
former lovers, a certain Beausire, who, a few years 
later, had the honor of being guillotined, along with 
many noble victims, in the Revolution. 

As for Madame de La Motte, everything in this 
wretched woman's career was horrible and violent; 
she was more deeply marked by fatality than by the 
branding-iron of the executioner. She was sentenced 
to be shaved, stripped, and beaten, and to be branded 
on her shoulders with a red-hot iron — an indelible 
sign of infamy. The details of the infliction of these 
penalties are most horrible. They took place June 
21, 1786, in the courtyard of the Palais de Justice. 
The wretched woman struggled with all her might 
and main, so that she had to be carried to the scaf- 
fold. Even when she was loaded with chains she 
continued her struggles. Her piercing cries, her 
efforts to escape, only redoubled, and, in her writh- 



124 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

ing, the hot iron slipped from her shoulder to her 
breast. A last shriek, more terrible than the others, 
Avas heard, and the unhappy woman was driven to 
the Salpetri^re, her prison. She was unrecognizable 
— her face all bruises, her eyes swollen with tears — 
when, quivering with anger and despair, she crossed 
the threshold of this accursed spot. There she was 
the object of public curiosity : people came from all 
quarters of Paris to see her. It was forbidden to 
speak to her, but she could be seen in the prison 
courtyard, and was easily distinguished from among 
her fallen companions by her air of misery and her 
continual lamentations. One night in September, 
1787, she found a means of escaping, and found 
refuge in England, where she lived on hate and cal- 
umny. Her vile pamphlets anticipated the shame- 
less denunciations of the bloodthirsty women who 
sat knitting at the foot of the guillotine, and, like a 
venomous serpent, she sought to poison the Queen 
with her venom. 

Hired libellers carried on the campaign of lies. 
Even Michelet, the open enemy of thrones, has thus 
condemned them : " Hired by the Queen's enemies, 
they composed about Marie Antoinette, in a few 
pages, a horrible legend, which was absurd, foolish, 
and disgusting, according to wliich she was both a 
Messalina and a la Brinvilliers, poisoning every one 
who stood in her way, giving arsenic to every new- 
comer." The end of Madame de La Motte was no 
less tragic than her whole career. One evening, in 



THE VJSBDICT. 125 



1791, she imagined that she was pursued by men 
who wanted to arrest her and carry her back to the 
Salpetridre. Wild with terror, she jumped out of 
the window. She was not instantly killed ; but one 
thigh was broken in two places, her left arm was 
fractured, one eye was lost; and she lingered for 
three weeks. Thus disappeared the last of the 
Valois. 

The more we study the beginning and the results 
of the affair of the necklace, the more odious and 
tragic it appears. One man was particularly struck 
by it, and the moment it began, he had a prophetic 
insight of the terrible consequences Avhich were to 
ensue. This man, who was in Strasburg in 1770, 
when Marie Antoinette arrived in France, had been 
shocked by seeing in the pavilion by which the Prin- 
cess entered the island of the Rhine, tapestry repre- 
senting the story of Jason, Medea, and Creiisa ; that is 
to say, the picture of the most unhappy of marriages. 
He was not mistaken when he shuddered at this evil 
omen, nor was he mistaken when the first news of 
the affair of the necklace reached him. " In 1785," 
he wrote in his Annalen^ oder Tag- und Jahreshefte^ 
1749-1822, "the affair of the necklace produced an 
indefinable impression upon me. From this abyss 
of immorality, which, in the town, the court, and 
throughout the whole state, opened before me, I saw 
rising the most terrible consequences, and for a long 
time I could not free my imagination from the ghosts 
that haunted it. Once in particular I spoke about 



126 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

this incident with so much emotion that my friends 
with whom I was staying in the country when the 
first news came, confided to me later, long after the 
outbreak of the Revolution, that I seemed to them 
out of my head." This man, whose presentiments 
were so accurate, was both a great prophet and a 
great poet ; it was Goethe. 

October 14, 1793, Marie Antoinette appeared before 
the Revolutionary tribunal. The public prosecutor, 
who called her Fr^d^gonde, Medicis, Messalina, Brune- 
haut, did not linger over the affair of the necklace; 
there was but a brief exchange of questions and 
answers : " Did you know the woman La Motte ? " 
" I never saw her." " Was she not your victim in 
the affair of the necklace ? " " She could not have 
been, for I never saw her." That was all; not 
another word. Why did not Fouquier-Tinville press 
the point? Because he confessed by his silence 
that the only guilty person was Madame de La 
Motte. 

Now there is no longer any obscurity; eminent 
historians, who certainly cannot be accused of reac- 
tionary tendencies or of any partiality for monarchies, 
M. Henri Martin and M. Lavallde, for example, have 
rendered full justice to the Queen who was so in- 
famously attacked. The first named has said, " The 
conviction which results from this long and con- 
fused affair is the impossibility of the Queen's guilt." 
" There is no doubt that Marie Antoinette was inno- 
cent," says the other ; yet, in spite of the testimony 



THE VEBDICT. 127 



of the facts, still there are possibly people, who, more 
unjust to the royal martyr than even Fouquier-Tin- 
ville, will try to collect in pamphlets as absurd as 
base, gall and mire wherewith to sully a pure and 
venerable name. 



XIII. 

A PICTUEE OF MADAME LEBE-UN's. 

YISITORS of the portrait-gallery in the palace 
of Versailles, always stop before one picture, 
which has a charm and beauty that are sure to attract 
attention. It is that in which Madame Vigde-Lebrun, 
in 1787, painted Marie Antoinette, surrounded by her 
three children. The Queen is sitting in the drawing- 
room of Peace, close to the Gallery of the Mirrors ; on 
her head she wears a velvet cap surmounted by a tuft 
of white feathers. Her red velvet dress, bordered 
with sable, shows her foot resting on a cushion. The 
Queen's complexion is marvellously brilliant, but her 
expression, while both gentle and full of majesty, has 
a dreamy, melancholy air. On her right stands a 
little girl, eight or nine years old, leaning her head 
on her mother's shoulder, and holding her arm. This 
child is Marie Thdr^se Charlotte, the future Duchess 
of Angoul^me. On her knees Marie Antoinette is 
holding a two-year-old child, — Louis Charles of 
France, the Duke of Normandy, who later was to 
call himself Louis XVII. On the left is an empty 
cradle, the covering of which is upheld by a child of 

128 



A PICTURE OF MADAME LEB RUN'S. 129 

six. This child wears the blue ribbon and the in- 
signia of the Holy Ghost ; it is the Dauphin. 

The Queen's sad expression is easily explained: 
Marie Antoinette had just lost her second daughter, 
Sophie Beatrix, who died when a year old, and this 
sad death, coinciding with the outbreak of calumny 
and the first threatening of the Revolutionary storm, 
was for the unhappy mother's tender heart a great 
sorrow and an unhappy omen. June 25, 1787, 
Madame Elisabeth wrote to her friend, the Mar- 
chioness of Bombelles : " Your relatives will have told 
you that Sophie died the day after I wrote to you. . . . 
My niece [later the Duchess of Angouleme] has 
been most admirable ; she showed a tenderness uncom- 
mon at her age. Her poor little sister is very fortu- 
nate. She has escaped all dangers. I, in my idleness, 
regret that I did not share her lot in my childhood. 
To console myself, I tended her carefully, hoping that 
she would pray for me. I count much on that. If you 
only knew how pretty she was when she lay dying ! 
It is inconceivable. The night before, she was pink 
and white, not at all emaciated ; indeed, most lovely." 

The little Princess had been conceived at the mo- 
ment when the trial of the necklace began. She was 
the last comer, the pledge of a conjugal harmony 
which calumniators and evil tongues had not been 
able to disturb, in spite of every invention of malice. 
Her death was the prelude of the afflictions of every 
sort that were about to fall upon the unhappy Marie 
Antoinette. 



130 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

One who looks at Madame Lebrun's picture will be 
struck by the general melancholy expressed upon the 
canvas, in spite of the splendor of the dresses and 
the rich coloring. The sadness of the oldest girl, 
with her eyes raised to heaven, the precocious seri- 
ousness of the Dauphin, the gesture with which he 
points towards his brother, afterwards Louis XVII., 
the pensive, thoughtful attitude of Marie Antoinette, 
who seems to be dreaming about the lamentable fu- 
ture fate of her children, seem to be a presentiment 
of the artist. There is a smile on the lips of the 
Duke of Normandy, because he is at an age when 
mental suffering is yet unknown. This pathetic 
picture, in spite of all its splendor, recalls the chil- 
dren of Charles L, painted by Van Dyke. 

Madame Lebtun finished her picture in 1787, mean- 
ing to send it to the exhibition at the Louvre in 1788. 
" The frame was first taken there alone," she writes 
in her Memoirs, "and this fact was enough to call 
forth abundant abuse. ' There is the Deficit,' people 
said, as well as a great many other things which were 
repeated to me, and enabled me to foresee the severest 
criticism. At last I sent the picture, but I was 
afraid to follow it and see its fate, so much did I 
dread the adverse judgment of the public. Indeed, 
I was so uneasy that I actually became feverish. I 
went to my room and locked the door, and was pray- 
ing that my picture of the royal family might suc- 
ceed, when my brother and a number of friends came 
to tell me that I had made a public success." 



A PICTUBE OF MADAME LEBBUN'S. 181 

It has been asserted that in 1788 the feeling of the 
public about Marie Antoinette was so abominably un- 
just that the government had hesitated, in the first 
days of the exhibition of the Louvre, about exposing 
Madame Lebrun's picture. But it is certain that the 
sympathetic artist's eloquent brush silenced malice 
and disarmed criticism. 

"After the Salon," continues Madame Lebrun, 
" the King having had my picture carried to Ver- 
sailles, it was M. d'Angevilliers, then Minister of 
Fine Arts and Director of the Royal Buildings, who 
presented me to His Majesty. Louis XVI. was kind 
enough to talk with me for some time, and to tell 
me that he was satisfied ; then he added, looking at 
my picture, ' I am not familiar with painting, but you 
make me love it.' " 

The picture was placed in a hall of the grand 
apartments, through which the Queen passed every 
day on her way to and from mass. A day came 
when she no longer could endure to look at it. June 
4, 1789, just at the opening of the States-General, 
so fatal to the monarchy, the Dauphin, a charming 
boy, amiable and intelligent, died at Meudon, in his 
eighth year. His poor mother, overwhelmed with 
grief, was unable to look at the canvas on which were 
the features of the dear boy for whose death she 
was weeping. She could never pass through the 
hall where this picture hung, without shedding tears, 
and a queen has no right to weep. "She told M. 
d'Angevilliers at that time," adds Madame Lebrun, 



132 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

" to have the picture taken away ; but with her usual 
consideration she took care to have me informed at 
once, at the same time telling me the reason. It is 
to this thoughtfulness of the Queen that I owe the 
preservation of my picture; for the fishwomen and 
ruffians who soon after went to Versailles to secure 
Their Majesties, would certainly have destroyed it, as 
they did the Queen's bed, which they cut through 
and through." 

By his brother's death, the future Louis XVIIr be- 
came Dauphin. At the moment of his birth, this child, 
who was destined to so gloomy an end, was thought 
to have been born under a lucky star. His birthday 
was Easter Sunday, 1785, March 27. In opposition 
to the old custom, which postponed the baptism of 
the royal children for some years, the young Prince 
had been baptized that same evening, at eight o'clock, 
in the chapel of the palace at Versailles, by the 
Cardinal de Rohan, Grand Almoner of France. His 
godfather was his uncle, the future Louis XVIII. ; his 
godmother, his aunt, the Queen of Naples, represented 
by Madame Elisabeth. The King, accompanied by 
all the court, had gone to the chapel, to be present 
at the baptism and the "Te Deum." When the 
ceremony was over, M. de Calonne, the Comptroller- 
General of Finance and Grand Treasurer of the Royal 
Orders, had carried to the infant the ribbon and star 
of the Order of the Holy Ghost. At nine o'clock 
there were fireworks before an interested crowd in 
the Place d' Amies. On the 24th of the following 



A PICTUBE OF MADAME LEBRUN'S. 133 

May, Marie Antoinette came to Paris in great pomp 
to give thanks for her recovery. Fifty men of the 
body-guard and a brilliant suite accompanied her 
state carriage, which was drawn by eight horses. 
The cannon of the Invalides fired a salute, for the 
future martyr was still applauded. She went to 
Notre Dame ; then to Saint Genevieve ; and after- 
wards to the Tuileries, where she dined. The same 
evening she supped at the Temple, which she was to 
see again a few years later. The festivities ended 
with fireworks, which the Count of Aranda had set 
off from the roof of his house in the Place Louis 
XV. The Temple and the Place Louis XV. ! Those 
words call up many memories. 

On his birth, the prince received the title of Duke 
of Normandy, which had not been borne by any one 
since the fourth son of Charles IV. June, 1786, Louis 
XVI., on his way back from Cherbourg, where he 
had been visiting the great works he had commanded 
at this port, was warmly greeted by all Normandy. 
He congratulated himself on having given the name 
of his beautiful province to his second son. " Come, 
my little Norman," he said to him, as he took him in 
his arms, "your name will bring you good luck." 
At that time, everything seemed to smile on the son 
of the King of France. 

When his brother died, Louis XVII. was but four 
years old. He was a remarkably handsome child. 
His blue eyes, his clear complexion, his curling light 
hair, made him look like an angel., He was also 



134 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

amiable, attractive, and more sensitive than most 
children of his age. One evening, at Saint Cloud, 
his mother sang and played to him a little song of 
Berquin's, and the young Prince, who was listening, 
did not move. " Hush ! he's asleep," said Madame 
Elisabeth. But the child raised his head, and said 
eagerly, " Oh ! dear aunt, can one sleep when Mamma 
Queen is singing?" He was taught to read in a book 
of the Marquis of Pompignan, which was a eulogy of 
the older brother of Louis XVI., the Duke of Bur- 
gundy, who died at nine, having endured intense 
suffering with surprising courage. 

Louis XVI. had learned English by translating a 
Life of Charles I. ; Louis XVII. learned to read in 
a book devoted to the memory of a child who endured 
much suffering. " How did my uncle learn," he 
asked, "to be so brave?" — a question which moved 
all who heard it. What would they have felt if 
they could have foreseen the cruel blows of fate, and 
if, in the dim future, they had suddenly descried the 
cobbler, Simon, like a spectre ? 



XIV. 

MADAME ELISABETH AT MONTEEUIL. 

JUST when a thunder-storm is about to begin, the 
reader may have noticed a bird seeking refuge 
under the branches of a tree which the lightning 
threatens ; this dove is like the young royal maiden, 
who, when the Revolution broke out, was living 
calmly and happily at Montreuil, an angel of inno- 
cence and virtue, whose mere name is a symbol of 
holiness, — Madame Elisabeth. Before the thunder 
begins to mutter and the lightning to flash, let us 
rest our eyes for a moment on this noble and worthy 
girl, soon to be a martyr ; on this spotless lamb, one 
of the most touching victims of the Revolution. The 
time is approaching when Marie Antoinette will find 
herself abandoned by nearly all her defenders, her 
relatives, her servants. Even the women whom she 
had most honored with her friendship will leave her, 
either of their own choice, or in obedience to the de- 
mands of the multitude. But there is one woman 
who will not abandon her, one woman whose heroism 
will grow with the danger, who will remain full of 
devotion, even to death ; this woman is the worthy 

135 



136 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

sister of Louis XVI., the worthy descendant of Saint 
Louis. 

In all history there are few figures so sympathetic, 
so gentle ; few heads that wear so pure and bright a 
crown of glory. Are not such beings a sort of com- 
pensation for the evil, an expiation of crime in times 
of horror ? One thinks with emotion of the holy 
women who wept at the Redeemer's sufferings on 
Golgotha, when the executioners, full of rage, were 
insulting Christ upon the cross ; when the men of the 
Terror were filling France with tears and blood, we 
regard Madame Elisabeth, and the sight of this holy 
victim reconciles us with humanity. 

The future martyr had known sorrow from the 
cradle. She was born May 3, 1764, and before she 
was three, had lost both father and mother. She trans- 
ferred her affection to her brothers, and especially 
to the eldest, the Duke of Berry, later Louis XVI. 
The young Princess's education was confided to two 
women of superior worth, — the Countess of Marsan 
and the Baroness of Mackau. She was naturally 
enthusiastic, quick-tempered, and inclined to haugh- 
tiness; she became kind, gentle, humble. Religion 
so softened and modified her character that she 
became a saint. Her genuine piety was not at all 
severe ; her devoutness was the expression of a noble 
soul in full light. Her conscience was as calm and 
clear as her face. She liked to pray with the young 
girls of Saint Cyr, or with the Carmelite Sisters of 
Saint Denis, among whom was her aunt, Madame 



MABAME ELISABETH AT MONTBEUIL. 137 

Louise de France, in religion, Mother Th^rese of 
Saint Augustine. 

" Not satisfied with coming often to be edified with 
her aunt's virtues," writes one of the Carmelites, 
" she devoted herself to the humblest functions of a 
convent life. One day when she had arrived at an 
early hour at the nunnery, she expressed a desire to 
serve the dinner to the whole sisterhood ; our revered 
Mother suggested to her this exercise, which suited 
her perfectly. She went into the refectory, put on 
an apron, and after kissing the earth, went to the 
kitchen door; she was given a tray on which was 
set the sisters' food. She distributed it to them care- 
fully, when suddenly the tray tipped, and some of the 
food fell on the floor. Her embarrassment was in- 
tense; to relieve her, the Prioress said, 'My niece, 
after a blunder like that you should kiss the earth.' 
At once Madame Elisabeth prostrated herself, and 
then continued her task without further incident. 
It was a real pleasure to our venerable Mother to see 
the virtues of her family reappearing in this young 
princess." The sister of Louis XVI., serving the 
meal of the Carmelites along with the daughter of 
Louis XV., is a subject to be recommended to artists 
fond of painting religious pictures. 

Many princes thought of asking for the hand of 
Madame Elisabeth. It is only necessary to glance at 
Sicardi's miniature, which belongs to the Marquis of 
Raigecourt, or at the lovely bust in the palace of 
Versailles, to understand the charm of this young 



188 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

and attractive princess. Then came up the question 
of her marriage with a prince of Portugal, and again, 
with Joseph II., who paid her much attention when 
he visited France in 1777. Political reasons pre- 
vented these proposed alliances, much to Madame 
Elisabeth's content. 

Like Isabelle of France, the sister of Saint Louis, 
Madame Elisabeth preferred the happiness of remain- 
ing with a brother whom she loved, to an exile how- 
ever brilliant. She was extremely fond of the palace 
of Versailles, where she was born ; of its park full of 
reminiscences of her childhood, of the chapel where 
she had so often prayed. She had a sincere affection 
for her brothers, her aunts, her governesses, her maids 
of honor, and for her friends. Her tender soul would 
have been tortured by the thought of leaving them ; 
hence she soon gave up all idea of marrying. 

At an entertainment given at the Trianon, June 6, 
1782, in honor of the Grand Duke Paul of Russia, 
the Baroness d'Oberkirch was given a place by the 
side of Madame Elisabeth. The Baroness in her 
Memoirs thus speaks of the Princes^ : " She was in 
all the glow of youth and beauty, and refused every 
offer, in order to remain with her family. 'I can 
marry only the son of a king, and the son of a king 
will have to reign over his father's realm ; I should 
cease to be a Frenchwoman, and that I should not 
like. I prefer staying here at the foot of my brother's, 
to ascending any other throne.' " 

When she came of age in 1778, Madame Elisabeth 



MADAIfE ELISABETH AT 3I0NTBEUIL, 139 

wanted to keep all her masters. The Abbe of Mon- 
taigii, who has been compared with Fenelon for elo- 
quence and gentleness, had directed her early studies. 
She was almost as devoted to work as to prayer. 

In 1781, Louis XVI., who dearly loved his sister, 
made her a fitting present. At No. 41 of the Avenue 
de Paris, at Versailles, there is a little street running 
north and south, called the rue du Bon Conseil. At 
No. 2 in this street is the entrance into a building 
which extends for some distance along the Avenue 
de Paris. This house was built about 1776, for the 
governess of the royal children, the Princess of 
Rohan-Guemenee. A lovely garden was laid out 
there ; ^ from the top of a hillock, eight or ten metres 
high, which was ascended by a spiral staircase con- 
cealed in the shrubbery, there was a distant view of 
Paris, lying like a giant on the horizon. This pretty 
place was situated in what was then a suburb of Ver- 
sailles, and was called Montreuil. In 1781, the 
Prince of Guemenee became bankrupt, and the Prin- 
cess, in order to satisfy as far as possible, her hus- 
band's creditors, sold her diamonds, her furniture 
and estates, including the house and park of Mon- 
treuil. Madame Elisabeth had often walked there, 
and she greatly admired its shade and its flowers. 

In spite of her love of solitude, she was the only 
princess of the royal family who had no country- 
house. One day in 1781, Marie Antoinette and 
Madame Elisabeth were driving along the Avenue de 
Paris. " If you like," said the Queen to her young 



140 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

sister-in-law, we will stop at that house in Montreuil, 
where you used to like to go when you were a little 
girl." " I shall be delighted," answered Madame 
Elisabeth; "for I have spent many happy hours 
there." The Queen and the Princess got out of their 
carriage, and just as they were crossing the threshold, 
Marie Antoinette said, " Sister, you are now in your 
own house. This is to be your Trianon. The King 
has the pleasure of offering this present to you, and 
has given me the happiness of informing you." 

Madame Elisabeth was then but seventeen years 
old. The King decided that she should not sleep at 
Montreuil until she was twenty-five. 

" But as soon as she came into the* possession of her 
dear little estate, she spent only the evenings and the 
nights at Versailles. In the morning she would go to 
mass in the chapel of the palace, and then she would 
at once get into a carriage with one of her ladies to 
drive to Montreuil. Sometimes she would even walk 
there. The life she led there was monotonous and 
like that of the happiest family in a castle a hundred 
leagues from Paris. The hours for work, for exercise, 
for reading, in solitude or in company, were carefully 
appointed. The dinner hour brought the Princess 
and her ladies together at the same table," M. de 
Beauchesne tells us in his life of Madame Elisabeth. 

In the same book he adds : " Later, before return- 
ing to court, they would all kneel down in the 
drawing-room, and in conformity to the habit surviv- 
ing in some families, would have evening prayers to- 



MADAME ELISABETH AT MONTREUIL. 141 

gether. Then they would return to the busy palace, 
at once so near and so remote, and enter their official 
home with the memory of a happy day filled with 
work, lightened by friendship, and consecrated by 
prayer." 

The first thing that Madame Elisabeth did with her 
new property was to give to Madame de Mackau a 
little house adjacent, upon the estate. She thought 
that the best way of inaugurating her taking posses- 
sion was by sharing it with her former instructress. 
The Baroness of Mackau, who was not rich, accepted 
gratefully the gift of the Princess, and established 
herself at Montreuil with her daughter, Madame de 
Bombelles, whom Madame Elisabeth treated like an 
old friend. 

No one understood better than the sister of Louis 
XVI. the holy pleasures and exquisite charm of 
friendship. She was the benefactress of her two 
dearest companions. Mademoiselle de Causans and 
Mademoiselle de Mackau, who had become respectively 
the Marchioness of Raige court and the Marchioness 
of Bombelles ; and Madame Elisabeth was grateful to 
both for the benefits she had conferred upon them; 
for truly high-minded people feel gratitude to those 
to whom they are able to be of service. To make a 
dowry for Mademoiselle de Causans, the Princess had 
advanced to her the allowance she would have received 
for five years, thirty thousand francs a year, from the 
King. With this sum of one hundred and fifty thou- 
sand francs Mademoiselle de Causans, who married 



142 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

the Marquis of Raigecourt, was able to remain near 
her benefactress. Louis XVI. signed the marriage 
contract June 27, 1784, and when every year any- 
thing was said about her allowance, Madame Elisa- 
beth would say, "There is none for me; but then 
I have my Raigecourt." 

Mademoiselle de Mackau, Marchioness of Bom- 
belles, was two years older than the Princess, whose 
playmate she had been in childhood. On her mar- 
riage, in 1778, the King gave her a doAvry of one 
hundred thousand francs, a pension of six thousand 
francs, and the position of companion to Madame 
Elisabeth. The Princess said : " At last my wishes are 
gratified ; you are mine. How pleasant it is to think 
that there is a new tie between us, and to hope that 
nothing will loosen it ! " M. de Bombelles was an 
officer ; in 1785 he entered the diplomatic career, and 
in 1786 was the French minister at Lisbon. After 
losing his wife in 1800, he took orders, and became 
Bishop of Amiens in 1819. His third son, who"^ 
entered the Austrian service, in 1834, married MarieJ 
Louise, the widow of Napoleon I. 

M. Feuillet de Conches has published some of the 
letters written by Madame Elisabeth to her friends. 
Undoubtedly the sister of Louis XVI. would have 
been astonished if she had been told that some day 
her letters would be printed ; for never was there a 
correspondence more void of literary pretensions. 
" Madame Elisabeth's style," says her editor, " is a 
real rough diamond, at once diffuse, familiar, and 



IIADAME ELISABETH AT MONTREUIL. 143 

incorrect, simple and strong, natural and easy, a 
curious mixture of frankness, good sense, and 
strength, of original simplicity and the merriment of 
a school-girl, yet preserving all the flavor and tone 
of an old language, in its ease, while showing an 
intimate and tender playfulness which endears the 
tvriter to us." 

The correspondence is full of pious and exalted 
thoughts. One might say that the sister of Louis 
XVI. already foresaw the approaching tempests, and 
was asking Heaven for strength to face them, with 
alarm. In many of the letters there is a sort of 
anticipation of her heroic endurance. It is easy to 
see that this young girl was no ordinary person ; that 
deep in her heart lay hidden treasures of resignation, 
piety, and courage. Touching reflections, wise coun- 
sels. Christian meditations, abound especially in her 
letters to Madame Marie de Causans. She wrote to 
her, December 17, 1785 : " How pleasant the idea of 
eternity becomes when we can say, ' I have spent all 
my life for God!'" 

In 1786 Madame de Causans had just lost her 
mother ; Madame Elisabeth tries to console her thus : 
" We must lay our fears and hopes at the foot of the 
cross; that alone can teach us to endure the trials 
that Heaven sends us. That is the book of books ; 
it alone lifts up and consoles the afflicted soul. God 
was innocent, and sujffered more than we can suffer, 
either in our heart or body. Ought we not to be 
happy to feel ourselves so closely bound to him who 



144 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

did so much for us ? Life has cruel moments, but 
through them we attain a precious treasure. . . . 
Who knows how soon we may reach that moment, 
dreaded by many, and so longed for by your mother? 
Let us try to deserve that it be as calm and as 
exemplary." This wish of Madame Elisabeth's was 
granted; for no death can be more admirable, more 
sublime, than hers. 

February 9, 1786, she wrote to Madame Marie de 
Causans : " Let us turn simply to God. May faith 
be given us to see that he never abandons his chil- 
dren ! If we feel too weak for his service, if we are 
discouraged, let us not rely on ourselves alone ; let 
us say to him: Thou, O God, seest all my heart; 
it is wholly thine. I do not know whether thou ac- 
ceptest all the sacrifices which I make and intend ; 
but thy Son died in atonement for my faults. Look 
upon him, O God, and even on the cross, where our 
cruelty and sins fastened him ; hear him who inter- 
cedes for us, who consoled the penitent thief. I 
would imitate him, O God, and recognize thy sov- 
ereign power, and believe that, whatever may befall 
me, thou wilt not desert me." Madame Elisabeth 
ascended the scaffold ; but as she climbed the steps, 
the God of mercy did not desert her, and death was 
rather an entrance into glory than a punishment. 

She wrote to Madame de Causans, March 29, 1786 : 
" Do not listen to the emptiness that surrounds you ; 
and when it torments you too much, cast your eyes 
on Christ, and you will see that he has more sym- 



MADAME ELISABETH AT MONTREUIL. 145 



pathy and more care for you than you can expect 
from human beings. He is ever at your heart's door, 
asking only to enter." She wrote to Madame de 
Bombelles, July 2, 1787 : " The more one sees of the 
world, the more dangerous it appears, or the more 
Avorthy of contempt rather than of regret when the 
time comes to leave it. Let us make ready for that 
moment." These preparations, so often neglected, 
were made most fully by this Princess. 

In 1785 she witnessed the sudden death of one of 
the gardeners at Montreuil, and was with him when 
he received extreme unction. " Madame sets a noble 
example," said the attendant priest. " Sir," she re- 
plied, " I am receiving a greater one, and one that I 
shall never forget." 

The continual thought of death, an unceasing con- 
templation of the crucifix, firm hope in a better world, 
formed the secret of Madame Elisabeth's strength. 
We feel that angels upheld her, and that the virtues 
made a sanctuary of her pure soul. The edifying 
death of her aunt, Madame Louise, the Carmelite, at 
Saint Denis, November 25, 1787, was for her a severe 
lesson ; one that made her even more pious, more 
truly Christian. A moment before breathing her last 
the nun said, "It is time. . . . Come, rise, let us 
hasten to heaven." Madame Campan tells us that 
in her delirium the dying woman remembered that 
she had been a princess, and called out, as if ad- 
dressing an equerry, " To paradise ! Quick, quick. 
Gallop ! " Madame Elisabeth, her worthy niece, was 



146 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

prepared for misfortune, for the prison, for mar- 
tyrdom. 

But the last hour had not come ; nothing disturbed 
the shades of Montreuil. French societ}^, on the eve 
of its great upheaval, was still the plaything of its. 
illusions. As M. Taine has well said, " Everywhere, 
as this society was approaching its end, there comes 
a common gentleness, an affectionate softness, like a 
mild breath of autumn, to soften whatever is hard 
or dry, and to envelop in a perf ame of dying roses 
the refinement of its moments." 
v At the Trianon, the Queen, wearing a straw hat, 
a dress of wliite muslin, and a gauze neckerchief, 
watches the milking of the cows, like a farmer's wife. 
Madame Adelaide takes a violin at a village festival, 
and, in the absence of the fiddler, plays while the 
peasant-women dance. The Duchess of Bourbon 
goes forth in the morning, incognito, to give alms to 
the poor in their garrets. The King and the Count 
of Artois help a wagoner to move his mired wagon. 
Before witnessing the terrible spectacles which the 
Kevolution was preparing, this society, in which the 
great were becoming intimate with their inferiors, 
in which it was becoming the fashion to love the 
country, to return to nature, to delight in the sim- 
plicity of rustic manners, to be humane, generous, 
useful ; this society, in which wives followed their 
husbands to their garrisons, and mothers nurse their 
children, in which fathers for the first time took an 
interest in their children's education, — this society. 



MADAME ELISABETH AT MONTREUIL. 147 

wliich before the horrible torments of winter, was en- 
joying the warm autumn sun, was about to see at 
Montreuil a delightful idyl, an eclogue, with Madame 
Elisabeth as heroine, which admirably mirrors the 
tastes of the epoch. 

It is a rural story, recalling the country of William 
Tell, the ram des vaches^ the poetic glaciers of Switz- 
erland. Paris and Versailles mingled their tears 
over this rustic scene, which was like one of Greurze's 
pictures in its touching simplicity that calls forth 
both smiles and tears. 

At Montreuil Madame Elisabeth led a quiet farm 
life. The farmyard was full of water-fowl ; and her 
barn was crowded with cows to supply milk to the 
motherless children of the neighborhood. She was 
astounded at the number of the children who came 
after it. Then she enlarged her barn, sent to Switzer- 
land for more cows, and desired to have them put 
under the charge of a man of that country, an honest 
peasant on whom she could depend. Madame de Dies- 
bach the wife of a Swiss officer, recommended to her 
for this position a certain Jacques Bosson, of BuUe, 
near Freiburg. As he had a father and mother 
who were very fond of him, Madame Elisabeth sent 
for them all then. They arrived at Montreuil, and 
Jacques was put in charge of the barn, which he 
tended with great zeal. " You must remember," said 
the Princess, " that the milk of these cows belongs to 
the children. I shall not take any of it myself until 
they have all been supplied." Jacques and his par- 



148 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

eiits, when they beheld their benefactress's kindness, 
exclaimed every moment : " What a kind Princess ! 
In all Switzerland there is nothing more perfect." 

Yet Jacques was not happy. There was some- 
thing lacking; the girl to whom he was engaged 
was far away, among the mountains ; hence his 
melancholy. One day Madame Elisabeth, who had 
noticed his sadness, asked the reason. " I thought 
I had made one person happy," she said to herself, 
" and I have made two miserable. But the evil can be 
repaired." Was not the Princess the good angel of 
her servants as she was of the poor ? She sent for 
Marie, the young girl ; she had Jacques marry her. 
May 26, 1789, and she appointed her milkmaid of 
Montreuil. Poor Jacques was full of joy. 

His melancholy, when separated from his betrothed, 
inspired a friend of Madame Elisabeth, the Marchion- 
ess of Travanet, sister of the Marchioness of Bom- 
belles, with the words and music of .a song which 
court and town used to repeat with effusion : — 

" Poor Jacques, when I was near thee, 

I did not feel my misery. 
But now, when thou art far away, 

I know no pleasure in the world ; 
When thou earnest to share my toil, 

I found my task light : 
Dost thou remember ? Every day was happy. 

Who will restore to me that time ? 
When the sun shines upon our fields, 

I cannot endure its light ; 
When I am in the shadows of the forest, 

I accuse all nature." 



MADAME ELISABETH AT MONTREUIL. 149 

Our grandmothers used to sing us to sleep with 
this song, the gentle, plaintive charm of which blends 
with the memory of the kind woman who was 
Jacques's benefactress. 



XY. 



CAZOTTE S PliOPHECY. 



ALAS ! the season for pastorals is nearly at an 
end. The second part of Madame Elisabeth's 
life is to present a striking contrast with the first. 
A sort of religious idyl, of holy eclogue, will conclude 
this most pathetic drama. The sister of Louis XVI. 
had a presentiment that too much confidence could 
not be placed in the virtuous language of the time. 
She wrote to Madame Marie de Causans, March 24, 
1786, this sentence, which was only too accurate : 
" Although our age is very proud of its tenderness, 
this is much more a matter of words than of feelings." 
They imagined themselves living in the Golden Age ; 
it was soon to be the Age of Iron. Suddenly the 
prospect became dark ; the tide rose, the sky clouded, 
and the air became full of evil omens. The Baroness 
d'Oberkirch said, in speaking of the year 1788: 
" There were current at that time in France and in 
foreign parts many prophecies of different persons. 
These prophecies found a wide belief; those, espe- 
cially, of M. Cazotte. A great many people had 
heard him utter them. But they announced such 
150 



CAZOTTE'S PROPHECY. 151 

extraordinary things that reason was compelled to 
class them with dreams and exaggerations." La 
Harpe has reported one which was made, he says, by 
this singnlar prophet, in the presence of the Duchess 
of Gramont, early in 1788. Doubtless La Harpe has 
added to what he remembered, but in the Gramont 
family as well as in that of the Cazottes, the exist- 
ence of the prediction is regarded as an authentic 
tradition. 

The Duchess of Gramont had said: "We women 
are very lucky in having nothing to do with revolu- 
tions. It is acknowledged that Ave, that our sex, 
shall be s|)ared." "Your sex, Madame," answered 
Cazotte, " will not protect you this time. . . . You 
will be treated exactly like men, without the slightest 
difference. . . . You, Duchess, will be taken to the 
scaffold — you and a great many other ladies — in 
the cart, and with your hands behind your backs." 
" Ah ! in that case, I hope I shall have at least a cart 
draped with black." " No, Madame ; greater ladies 
than you will ride in the cart, and with bound hands, 
like you." " Greater ladies ! What? Princesses of 
the blood? " " Still greater ladies." 

Then, La Harpe adds, the joke seemed to be going 
too far. Madame de Gramont, to soften matters, 
passed over this last answer, and merely said in the 
lightest nianner, " You will see that he won't even 
let me have a confessor." " No, Madame ; you will 
not have one, nor will any one. The last who will 
be allowed one, will be — " 



152 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Then he stopped for a moment. 

" Well, who is the happy mortal who shall enjoy 
this privilege?" 

" It's the only one that will be left him, and it will 
be the King of France." 

This strange prophecy was indeed a gloomy one ; 
but however his imagination may have been haunted 
by gloomy phantoms, can it have foreseen anything 
to be compared with what actually happened a few 
years later. May 10, 1794? Let us transport our- 
selves to that period, and enter the Temple in the 
evening of May 9. 

Ever since she had been separated from the Queen, 

— that is to say, since August 2, 1793, — Madame 
Elisabeth had been imprisoned there with her niece, 
the future Duchess of Angouleme. Their captivity 
had lasted twenty-one months. Having been kept in 
close confinement and in absolute ignorance of every- 
thing that was going on, — for their sole means of 
information was the crying of the newsboys outside, 

— the two prisoners did not know whether Marie 
Antoinette was living or dead. They confided their 
sufferings to God; and in their angelic calm and 
resignation they realized Shakespeare's image of Pa- 
tience smiling at grief. Every day, Madame Elisa- 
beth used to utter this prayer in company with her 
niece, to whom she had become a second mother; it 
was a prayer she had herself composed in prison : — 

"What will befall me to-day, O God? I do not 
know. I only know that nothing will happen which 



CAZOTTE'S PROPHECY. 153 

thou hast not foreseen, determined, desired, and 
ordered from all eternity. That is enough for me. 
I worship thy eternal and impenetrable designs; I 
submit to them with all my heart through love for 
thee. I will everything, I accept everything, I make 
a sacrifice to you of everything, and I add this 
sacrifice to that of my blessed Saviour. I beg of 
thee in his name, and through his infinite merits, 
patience in my sufferings, and that perfect submission 
which is due to thee for all that thou desirest or 
permitte^^t." 

The 9th of May, 1794, is drawing to its end; it is 
seven o'clock in the evening. The two prisoners, 
who are accustomed to rise very early, are making 
ready to go to bed, when suddenly they hear their 
bolts drawn. They hasten to put on the dresses they 
have just taken off. A man goes up to Madame 
Elisabeth, and says : " Citoyenne, come down at once ; 
you are wanted." " Does my niece stay here ? " 
" That's none of your business. We shall see about 
her later." The Princess then embraces her young 
companion, and says to her, "Be calm; I shall be 
back soon." A brutal voice calls out, "No; you 
won't come back! Put on your bonnet, and come 
down." Madame Elisabeth pressed her niece to her 
heart: "Well, be courageous and fhm, trust always 
to God ; remember the religious principles which your 
parents gave you, and be faithful to the last coun- 
sels of your father and mother." The two captives 
remained in each other's arms a moment; then the 



154 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

aunt, who is leaving her niece forever, walks away 
firmly and quickly, with these last words : " Think 
of God, my child." 

She was carried first to the Conciergerie, and then 
to the Revolutionary tribunal, and after going through 
the mockery of a trial, she was condemned to death, 
along with twenty-three other victims. As she was 
leaving the court-room, Fouquier-Tinville could not 
keep from exclaiming, "It must be confessed that 
she has not uttered a word of complaint ! " " What 
should Elisabeth of France complain of?" answered 
one of the so-called judges. "Haven't we to-day 
made a suitable aristocratic court for her? There is 
no reason she should not imagine herself in the Ver- 
sailles drawing-rooms when she finds herself at the 
guillotine, in company with all these faithful nobles." 

That man did not know w^hat true words he spoke. 
The execution was to be only an entrance to glory. 
Madame Elisabeth was to edify, console, and cheer 
her companions, — Madame de Senozan, the oldest of 
the twenty-four victims ; the Marchioness of Crussol 
d'Amboise, formerly the most timid woman in the 
world, but now most fearless ; M. de Lomenie, for- 
mer Minister of War, and Madame de Montmorin, 
widow of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, who did 
not lament on her own account, but could not restrain 
her tears for her son, a young man of twenty, who 
was also to die. " You love your son," said Madame 
Elisabeth, " and yet you don't want him to accompany 
you ! You are about to attain all the bliss of heaven, 



CAZOTTE'8 PROPHECY. 155 

and you want him to linger on this earth where now 
there is nothing but pain and sorrow." Madame de 
Montmorin dried her tears, and embracing her son, 
said, " Come ! We will ascend the scaffold together." 

The signal is given; the tumbrels start for the 
Place Louis XV. On the way, Madame Elisabeth 
continues her exhortations. They reach the place of 
execution. If it is true, as has been asserted, that 
Fouquier-Tinville proposed " to bleed those who had 
been sentenced, in order to weaken the courage they 
showed in the face of death," he certainly must have 
had good reason to regret that this measure, which is 
quite in the spirit of the Revolution, had not been 
adopted for the batch of May 10, 1794. All the 
victims, inspired by the presence of the noble sister 
of the martyred King, showed admirable courage. 

The first name called by the executioner was that 
of Madame de Crussol. She bowed to Madame 
Elisabeth. "Ah, Madame ! if Your Royal Highness 
would deign to kiss me, I should be perfectly happy." 
"Very gladly," answered the Princess, "and with all 
my heart." All the other women enjoyed the same 
privilege. The men bowed and kissed respectfully 
the hand of the daughter of kings. One man in the 
crowd about the guillotine shouted out, " There's no 
need for all this salaaming ; there she is now, like the 
Austrian 1 " Madame Elisabeth heard him, and then 
learned for the first time that she was to meet Marie 
Antoinette in heaven. One after another the vic- 
tims ascended the scaffold, and went to the bloody cer^ 



156 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

emony as the faitliful went to tlie Holy Table. Orders 
had been given that Madame Elisabeth should be exe- 
cuted the last, in the cruel hope that the twenty-three 
heads falling before her eyes might perhaps break 
her courage. It was an unfounded hope. While 
the sacrifice was gonig on, she recited the " De Pro- 
fundis ", without a change of color. When the turn 
of the twenty-third victim, the last but one, came, the 
saintly Princess said, " Courage ! courage and faith 
in God's mercy." Then it was her time to die, or, 
rather, to enter into eternal life. 

The noble virgin ascended the steps of the scaffold 
with unfaltering step. She betrayed no emotion, 
save at the moment when the executioner wanted to 
take off the neckerchief that covered her breast. " In 
the name of your mother," said Madame Elisabeth, 
" do not uncover me." Those were her last words. 
The soul of Madame Elisabeth was in heaven. All 
the spectators were moved. Even the knitting 
women, the Furies of the guillotine, ceased their up- 
roar, and the crowd dispersed in sadness. That day 
there were around the scaffold none of the usual cries 
of " Long live the Republic." 

Madame Roy ale, later the Duchess of Angoul^me, 
v/as left alone in prison, with no more news of her 
aunt than she had had of her mother. She did not 
learn their fate till seven months later, when she left 
the Temple, after an imprisonment of twenty-eight 
months. Then, when with tears and distress, she was 
speaking of her relations, a woman, touched by her 



GAZOTTE'S PBOPHECY. 157 



grief, said, " Alas ! Madame has no relatives." 
" What ! "■ exclaimed the orphan, " Aunt Elisabeth, 
too! What fault can they have found in her?" 

Was it possible that France was destined to behold 
a repetition of such scenes ? Was a time to come 
when the government, forgetful of the lessons of the 
past, should lay down its arms, to the terror of good 
citizens and to the delight of evil ones ? The history 
of the Revolution, which every one thinks he knows, 
and no one knows sufficiently, cannot be too carefully 
studied and pondered. It is full of instruction of 
service to liigh and low, to rich and poor. What we 
should seek is not food for wrath, or an inspiration 
of vengeance, but wise, warning lessons of wisdom 
and firmness. 

When M. Feuillet de Conches published his col- 
lection of Madame Elisabeth's letters, he asked a 
priest to write the preface. We have just read this 
preface, and we confess that it made a deep impres- 
sion. The following passage especially struck us : — 

" If the whole life of Madame Elisabeth inspires us 
with a feeling of affectionate reverence and a desire 
to imitate her virtues, her death, which was a crime 
as detestable as it was odious, inspires a feeling of 
horror and indignation for the vile and cowardly 
assassins who then, under the name of lawmakers, 
cumbered France with blood and ruin, and crushed it 
beneath the burden of their vices and their cruelty. 
I should like to add that it inspires all honorable peo- 
ple Avith the desire and resolution, not only to declare 



158 MAMIE ANTOINETTE. 

themselves clearly, but also, if they have any part in 
public affairs, to act with promptness and energy, so 
that the vicious shall know what to expect and what 
caution they must observe. For it is a moving spec- 
tacle and one capable of arousing good citizens from 
their apathy and irresolution, if they would consent 
to take account of their own force, their rights, and 
their duties, and not to lose the benefits of their 
principles by halting counsels and impotent action." 

The priest who wrote these lines had no illusions. 
Something told him that great disgrace, sore trials, 
immense catastrophes, were impending, and to the 
page just quoted he added this page which is full of 
prophecy : — 

" Alas I no. . . . Everything begins again on earth, 
although nothing makes itself over. This is partic- 
ularly true of revolutions, in which there always is 
present an imitation of the past which will again be 
repeated in the future. Although the facts, after the 
event, show how they might have been prevented or 
modified, this revelation is denied to the majority; 
it adopts again the same methods to bring up at 
the same catastrophes. In the same way, every one 
knows that there is a certain secret force which 
carries events beyond the limit fixed by human 
thoughts and desires ; nevertheless, this often-attested 
truth does not prevent those who collected the clouds 
from foolishly hoping to control the tempest which 
they have let loose ; it does not render the multitude 
less confident in the promises of peace and happiness 



CAZOTTJE'S PROPHECY, 159 

with which hypocritical flatterers delude it. The 
faults continue, and calamities follow close upon their 
heels." 

Who was it that, November 19, 1867, put his name 
to this preface ? It was he who, less than four years 
afterwards, was to suffer a death as tragic and saintly 
as that of Madame Elisabeth. It was one of the 
future victims of the Commune, the Archbishop of 
Paris, Monsignor Darboy. 



XVI. 

THE BEGINNING OF THE EEVOLUTION. 

" I \0 you know what happened to me the other 
1 J day ? " Marie Antomette asked Madame 
Campan some time before the Revolution. "I was 
going to a special committee in the King's study, and 
as I was passing through the CEil de Boeuf, one of 
the musicians said loud enough for me to hear every 
word, ' A queen who does her duty stays in her own 
room to look after the roast.' I said to myself, ' Poor 
man, you are right; but you don't understand my 
position. I must obey necessity and my evil des- 
tiny.' " 

And Marie Antoinette sighed, and added, with an 
accent of profound sadness, " Ah ! there is no happi- 
ness for me since they have made me out to be dis- 
posed to intrigue." 

The Queen had a vague instinct of the misfortunes 
that were threatening her; but she was disturbed 
and confident in turns, yielding at times to the illu- 
sions which the blindest optimism of the epoch evoked 
in every heart. There was expected some sort of 
gentle and amusing revolution, a political entertain- 

160 



BEGINNING OF THE REVOLUTION. 161 

ment, an intellectual tournament, a sort of Fronde 
perfected by the philosophy and urbanity of the. eigh- 
teenth century. It was thought that the assemblies 
would be like meetings of the Academy, the clubs 
like drawing-rooms, the newspapers like Grimm's Cor- 
respondence. " The women," to quote from the Duke 
of Levis, — for this authority still existed, — "ex- 
pected to take once more the parts of the Duchesses 
of Chevreuse and Longueville. The young members 
of the parliaments counted on their eloquence ; the 
older men, on their reputation ; and of the young 
nobles, some began, in the insignificant meetings of 
the Freemasons, to practise speaking in public — an 
art wholly unfamiliar to the nobility in an absolute 
monarchy. All means were adopted in the hope of 
winning success." 

All were fired b}^ ambition. "Every man who 
could read," we are told by the Count of Yaublanc, 
"became a profound politician." From the greatest 
noblemen down to the idlers in the cafes, every 
one imagined himself the possessor of an excellent 
receipt for making good the deficit and saving 
the country. As M. Aubertin has said, "By all, 
even by the court party, the Revolution was invoked 
out of wrath with conflicting ambitions, as well as 
resentment against the King and his ministers, and 
the desire of revenge for some vexation or disappoint- 
ment. The inevitable catastrophe became the last 
resource even for those on whom it was to fall like 
a punishment, and in this absurd infatuation of offi- 



162 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

cial selfishness, even tlie courtiers expected from the 
States-General the destruction of the central power 
and the restoration of the feudal system." 

It was in vain that some solemn souls recalled the 
tragedies of our history, and the bloody memories of 
the Ligue. The mournful words of these prophets 
of evil called forth smiles from this young genera- 
tion, who, in reply, boasted of the advance of intel- 
ligence, the refinement of manners, the progress of 
science and civilization. These young JDCople laughed 
at religious fanaticisms, and soon it was to see civil 
society turned fanatical. But meanwhile ^i\j one 
who pointed out a black cloud on the horizon was 
regarded as a feeble-minded coward. In this mis- 
taken period, which is called the (Golden Age of the 
Re volution,^^ politics became the fashion, a refinement, 
a new means of delight for a drawing-room or a 
boudoir. Titled revolutionaries, in silk or velvet 
coat, used to discuss the Social Contract at some 
dainty supper. The atliletes, before the contest, used 
to anoint themselves with some prepared essence. 
There was no discussion, only conversation, and this 
was full of courtesy and grace. Never had there 
been more brilliant talk, or more wit and variety; 
never readier transition from gravity to severity, 
from wit to seriousness. " What a charm," says the 
Viscountess of Noailles, " there was in the parties at 
the beginning of our terrible Revolution, when intel- 
ligent and enthusiastic people met in the desire to do 
good ! The old tastes became the refined interpreters 



BEGINNING OF THE BEVOLUTION. 163 

of the new ideas. Those of lively imagination hoped 
soon to see the realization of their wildest dreams; 
every abuse was gladly denounced, in the hope of 
rising to a height that should be understood and 
respected by the masses. [In a word, they fell into 
a well, like the astronomer of the fable, while gazing 
at the stars.'^ It is in reference to this period of 
dreams and illusions, of charm and glory, that Tal- 
leyrand said when he was old, "No one who did 
not live before 1789 has any idea of the charm of 
life." 

The great mistake of Louis XVI. was that he let 
himself be deceived by this mirage ; but is it strange 
that a king was no wiser than his whole generation ? 
His mistakes were those of his time. It would 
have required a mighty genius to contend with the 
insubordination which was spreading everywhere. 
Bachaumont tells us that in 1780 the King congratu- 
lated the Marshal of Richelieu on recovering his 
health. " For, in fact, you are not young ; you have 
seen three centuries." "Not quite. Sire, but three 
reigns." " Well, and what do you think of them ? " 
" Sire, under Louis XIV. no one dared say anything ; 
under Louis XV. people spoke very low ; under Your 
Majesty they say everything." 

The Prince de Ligne has made a very similar 
remark:' ^' It was as much the fashion, under- Louis 
XVI., to disobey as it had been under Louis XIV., to 
obey." Disobedience prevailed everywhere, — in the 
government, in society, in the family, in ideas, and in 



164 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

customs. The nation possibly still loved those who 
governed it, but it had ceased to fear them. The 
work of destruction advanced methodically. /_The 
leaders of the Revolution had begun by undermining 
the altar, and that task once accomplished, the throne 
could prove no firmer) 

Doubtless Louis XVI. did not understand the part 
he should have played. In the place of decision there 
was uncertainty ; in the place of strength, weakness ; 
in the place of single-mindedness, divided counsels, 
contradictions, vagueness, and the wilful abandon- 
ment of all the means of governing. Yet we need 
not be surprised at the bad advice given to Louis 
XVI., since, after his bitter experience, Ave have seen 
the reappearance of the same corroding theories, — 
of the same mad theories of political disorganization, 
and power once more abandoning iis proper means 
of defence. 

This is not saying that great reforms were not 
necessary, urgent, and imperative. Such a thought is 
far from us ; but these reforms should properl}^ have 
proceeded from a single person, — from the sovereign. 
There was a social question demanding solution, and 
this social question should have outweighed the po- 
litical question. The King might have put himself 
at the head of this movement, but on the condition 
of directing it with boldness, and of preserving, at 
any cost, his regal authority, ftle should have ap- 
peared as the protector, not as the servant, of his 
people. The details of the edifice — the porches, the 



BEGINNING OF THE REVOLUTION. 165 

pediment, the arcades — miglit have been modified, bnt 
on one condition : that the base — that is to say, the 
monarchical power — should be preserved. The more 
important the reforms demanded, the more necessary 
to strengthen the political and military policy. (In- 
stead of remaining at the helm, Louis XYI., when 
the storm began to growl, called the rashest passen-^ 
gers to take his place.) 

Why is it that in our own days, Alexander II. 
succeeded in bringing about peacefully one of the 
most important of modern reforms ; namely, the. eman- 
cipation of the serf? Because he was able to dispense 
with calling an assembly. Suppose the Czar had 
convoked the States-General in order to carry out 
his programme ; in a few months Russia would have 
been overthrown. Why is the great nation now so 
powerful ? Because its ruler has never listened to 
this foolish phrase : " A sovereign reigns and does 
not govern." Reform, instead of rising from below, 
came down from on high, and hence was accom- 
plished so speedily and so gloriously. All monarchs 
who wish to bring about reforms ought to be firm 
in maintaining their own authority. When innova- 
tions are not counterbalanced by rigid discipline, 
they weaken and undermine the power that proposed 
them. 

If Louis XVI. had been a great man, he would, of 
his royal authority, have proclaimed equality before 
the law, and, supported by a faithful army, he would 
have overcome the resistance of the privileged classes 



166 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 



with the energy of a Richelieu or of a Peter the 
Great. The whole people would have followed him 
in this path, and the strength and glory of the mon- 
archy would only have increased. If Louis XVI. 
lacked the vigor and determination necessary to push 
through the reform with an armed hand, if he pre- 
ferred a silk coat and knee breeches to a uniform, 
if he abandoned the right of punishing, he ought to 
have kept close to the old routine, governing in the 
old-fashioned method of M. cle Maurepas, following 
the advice of his aunts, and above all, making no 
concessions. The governmental machine, though it 
seemed worn out, still preserved traces of its former 
velocity. The States-General would not have con- 
voked themselves. The Count de Vaublanc said with 
a great deal of justice, "It is not the people who 
make revolutions; it is the kings and their min- 
isters." 

The architect of his own ruin, Louis XYI. pro- 
ceeded to forge his own chains. The fault lay with 
the theorists who deluded him, with those men who 
were forever talking about necessary liberties and 
forgot indispensable authority; who, when once in 
power, were compelled to abandon the theories they 
had held when in opposition. We may truly say, 
"It is the fate of monarchy in France not to be 
conquered, but to be betrayed." 

The Louis XV. of Madame Du Barry, Louis XV. 
himself, decried as he was, would never have been 
guilty of the faults of his unhappy successor. Maria 



BEGINNING OF THE REVOLUTION. 167 

Theresa, who was thoroughly versed in statescraft, 
at once saw that the old King's death was a catas- 
trophe. Louis XYI. had a sort of presentiment of 
his own weakness, when on the day of his coronation 
he said that the crown tired him. Alas ! he shattered 
his crown and his sceptre with his own hands, and 
the time came when he was obliged to exchange his 
diadem for the hideous red cap. A monarch who 
renounces his prerogatives descends voluntarily from 
his pedestal. It is like what is called in Roman Law 
an abdication of civil rights. ^ He who has been mas- 
ter cannot become servantr) 



XVII. 

THE ASSEMBLY OE NOTABLES. 

THE more history is studied, tlie more striking 
are the illusions which blind rulers. It seems 
as if Providence put a bandage over their eyes. Louis 
XVI. had been simple-minded enough to think of 
crowning the edifice. The Comptroller-General, Ca- 
lonne, wrote in the paper wherein he proposed con- 
voking the Notables, " The course of time and the 
changes of events seem to have brought us to the 
moment in which the monarchy, after long agitation, 
is at length sufficiently calm and ripe for improving 
the constitution." The old Marshal of Richelieu 
asked what punishment Louis XIV. would have in- 
flicted on the minister who should have proposed 
assembling the Notables. The young Viscount of 
Segur said, " The King is handing in his resignation." 
Marie Antoinette was angry with Calonne, under- 
standing the danger of a parliamentary assembly; 
but Louis XVI. was so fascinated by his minister's 
fine phrases that on the day after the council-meeting 
at which the report had been read, he wrote, " I did 
not sleep all night, but it was from joy." 

168 



THE ASSEMBLY OF NOTABLES. 169 

Calonne was wittj, light, brilliant, fertile in re- 
sources, void of malice, ill-will, and rancor, a man 
devoted to work and pleasure ; in short, one of those 
attractive people who fancy that everything is safe 
because the victim is adorned with flowers. When 
he accepted the ministry in 1783, he had promised 
whatever was asked of him. His entry into favor 
was a perfect ovation ; but soon he had to contend 
with the incessant demands of the Treasury, and 
the continual loans produced an unfavorable impres- 
sion on the public. Calonne failed to see that the 
deficit was, not the cause, but a pretext of the revo- 
lutionary movement which was beginning to assert 
itself. He lent his aid to a parliament at the very 
time when a parliament was the most alarming of all 
the dangers. At first it seemed as if the Notables 
were going to form a thoroughly conservative assem- 
bly. It consisted of one hundred and forty-four 
members, among w^hom were seven princes of the 
blood, fourteen archbishops and bishops, thirty-six 
dukes and peers. With six or seven exceptions, all 
the Notables were nobles or enjoyed the privilege of 
nobility. But it was a political assembly out of the 
usual order, in a country which had not seen one for 
a century and a half, and it was, in fact, the germ of 
the States-General. The Notables assembled at Ver- 
sailles, February 22, 1787. They held their sessions 
at the House of the Menus Plaisirs, in the Avenue de 
Paris, at the corner of the rue Saint Martin, at a place 
which is now a cavalry-barracks. The main entrance 



170 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

was on the avenue. At the end of the courtyard 
was a grand staircase leading to a vestibule beyond 
which was the assembly room; there was another 
entrance from the rue des Chantiers. 

On the day the Assembl}^ of Notables was opened, 
there was not a single cry of " Long live the King " 
from the vast crowd Avatching the procession. As 
for the cry, " Long live the Queen," it had not been 
heard for many years. To a sagacious observer it 
was plain that a great crisis was impending. 

Calonne's plan was in itself very good. He wished 
to establish a proportional equality of burdens, to 
impose a tax on those who enjoyed privileges, to 
alienate some of the crown domains, and to extend 
the stamp-tax. But he lacked the vigor and persist- 
ence and the moral weight required for carrying 
through so bold a programme. Surprise was general 
when he was heard to pose as a reformer, indeed, 
almost as a democrat, in his speech ; he, the favorite 
of the Count of Artois, the friend of the Polignacs, 
the lessor of the courtiers' funds. 

" We cannot borrow forever," he said, " nor can 
we lay taxes forever; we cannot draw upon the 
future any more ; economy will no longer suffice. 
What, then, is left to us to supply what we need and 
to procure what is required for the restoration of our 
financial condition? The abuses. Yes, gentlemen, 
it is in the abuses that lies a fund of wealth which 
the state has the right to demand, and which will 
serve to restore order." 



THE ASSEMBLY OF NOTABLES. 171 

In the same speech Calonne flattered the passions 
of his time by speaking of the reign of Louis XIV. 
as " a brilliant reign in which the • victories impov- 
erished the state, and intolerance depopulated it." 
This official utterance of a minister, who thus at- 
tacked the memory of a great reign, was a distinct 
sign of the times. Calonne satisfied neither liberals 
nor conservatives. Being abandoned by all, he left 
the ministry six weeks after the meeting of this 
Assembly of Notables, from which he expected to 
acquire security; but his plans did not disappear 
with him, and the Notables adopted the reforms he 
had proposed. The closing session was held May 25, 
1787. The optimists still deceived themselves, and 
the chancellor, Lamoignon, said in his speech that 
" everything would be repaired without a shock, with- 
out any disturbance of fortune, without modifying the 
principles of government." 

The Archbishop of Toulouse, Lomdnie de Brienne, 
succeeded Calonne. The Abb^ de Vermont, the 
Queen's secretary and confidant, had been in for- 
mer days chosen by the Archbishop to be sent to 
Vienna by the Duke of Choiseul as tutor of the 
young Archduchess, who was to become the Queen 
of France. The Abbe was delighted to see his for- 
mer protector in the ministry, and regarded the ap- 
pointment as his own work. " I have more than 
once heard him say," Madame Campan writes, " that 
seventeen patient years Avere not too many for success 
at court; that it had taken him all that time to 



172 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

accomplish the aim he had set himself; but that at 
last the Archbishop was where he ought to be for the 
good of the state." The Abbe became an important 
person. He had his apartments enlarged in order to 
have a more appropriate place for the reception of 
bishops, cardinals, and ministers. 

The Queen, who had been a patron of the Arch- 
bishop of Toulouse, took more and more interest in 
political matters. Unfortunately, neither her char- 
acter nor her education fitted her for this grave occu- 
pation. She was ignorant of history, and had read 
scarcely anything except novels. As the Baron of 
Besenval said, the moment any one began to talk 
seriously, her face expressed weariness, and the con- 
versation flagged. Her talk was always desultory, 
turning from one subject to another. The gossip of 
the day, stories of the court and the town, gratified 
her more than discussions about finance. She was 
ill at ease in the political circles in which she was 
destined to live, and she herself regretted that she- 
was called upon to rule. She had insensibly acquired 
complete ascendancy over her husband. " Whether 
through superiority, or fear, or charm," the Baron of 
Besenval says elsewhere, "not only did he never 
oppose her, but I have seen more than a thousand 
times that when she was speaking, his eyes and mien 
expressed a feeling, an eagerness, which the most 
dearly loved mistress seldom evokes." 

Marie Antoinette had the best intentions in the 
world, but she lacked the persistence and decision 



THE ASSEMBLY OF NOTABLES. 173 

necessary for one who is to rule. She made a mis- 
take in calling Brienne to the charge of affairs. This 
philosophic prelate, whose wit was more admirable 
than his morality, and whose learning was superior 
to his judgment, had been recommended by the gen- 
eral opinion — a fact which somewhat excuses the 
Queen. As Madame de Stael said : " His ecclesias- 
tical dignity, combined with his constant desire to 
attain the ministry, had given him the external 
appearance of a statesman, and his reputation en- 
couraged this impression, until he was given an 
opportunity to belie it. . , . He admired in turn 
the conduct of Cardinal Richelieu and the principles 
of the Encyclopaedists ; he tried acts of force, but he 
drew back at the first obstacle. . . . Arbitrary and 
constitutional in turn, he was awkward in both sys- 
tems, which he tried alternatively. ... Defeated as 
a despot, he allied himself with his old friends, the 
philosophers, and, out of humor with the privileged 
classes, he tried to please the nation." In a word, 
he personified the principle of the pendulum, which, 
everywhere and at all times, is the method of weak 
governments. 

He made one blunder after another. Everybody 
expected a royal session, in which the King should 
have the Parliament record in one mass all the edicts 
adopted by the Notables. Instead of that, Brienne 
was ill-advised enough to send in the edicts one after 
another. Parliament defended the privileges, and 
yet remained popular by being in opposition. The 



174 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Palais de Justice became a seat of revolution; the 
stairways and courtyards were crowded with a hired 
multitude, with no opinions of their own, belonging 
to no party, but united by the attraction of a salary, 
and turbulent or calm, according to the orders it had 
received. If a resolution seemed violent, the warmer 
were hand-clappings and bravos and cheers with 
which these gentlemen were rewarded as they left 
the meeting. 

The Parliament played a sad comedy, and was 
rapidly approaching the hour of its suicide when it 
sustained abuses while putting on a mask of liberal- 
ism. When the imposition of a stamp-duty came up 
for discussion, July 6, 1787, it demanded, as the Nota- 
bles had done, information on the financial status. 
When the ministry refused to accede to their request, 
one of the councillors, the Abbd Sabatier, called out, 
" We demand the status ; it's the States-General we 
want." This play on words was very successful, and 
soon turned into a formal proposition. The Parlia- 
ment expressed a desire to see " the nation assembled 
before any new impost was laid." The members of 
the legal corporation composed songs about the 
Queen, calling her Madame Deficit, and the anger 
against her grew so violent that, by advice of the 
lieutenant of police, Louis XVI. forbade her to show 
herself in Paris. 

The Baron of Besenval gives the following account 
of a conversation he had at this time with Marie 
Antoinette in the garden of the Trianon : " I told the 



THE ASSEMBLY OF NOTABLES. 175 

Queen that it was in vain that she flattered herself 
on winning over the Parliament ; that the more she 
temporized, the more its boldness would increase ; that 
it was time for the King to show that he meant to be^ 
master, and to have his own way by acts of authority ; 
otherwise he would have to lay aside the crown, and 
possibly forever. ' Ah ! ' the Queen exclaimed, ' M. 
de Calonne has done a great deal of harm to the 
country with the Notables ! ' " 

Still everything might have been saved. With the 
exception of the cities with parliaments, the whole 
kingdom was perfectly quiet. The populace still 
kept its religious and monarchical sentiments. Dis- 
cipline prevailed in the army. With a little vigor 
Louis XVI. might have preserved his rights. In- 
stead of that, he had recourse to half-way measures. 
After having exiled the Parliament to Troyes, August 
15, 1787, he had the weakness to call it back. .He 
let the Duke of Orleans organize the Revolution. 
With inconceivable blindness, he permitted the pub- 
lication of a mass of anarchic pamphlets and libels. 
Nothing else was read. Booksellers exposed these 
incendiary writings before the eyes of the' public. 
They were read aloud in public places, under the 
very eyes of the police. Soldiers were forbidden to 
use their weapons in case of disorder in the street. 
This blundering order encouraged evil-doers, and 
soon they attacked the watch and burned the guard- 
houses. ♦ 

When the Parliament returned from Troyes, in 



176 MAEIJS ANTOINETTE. 

September, 1787, the younger lawyers and their hire- 
lings illuminated the neighborhood of the Palais de 
Justice, and broke the windows of those houses whose 
owners were courageous enough to withstand the 
demand of a troop of rioters. Calonne was burned 
in e&gj in the Place Dauphin. Manikins repre- 
senting Breteuil, the Minister, and the Duchess of 
Polignac, the friend of the Queen, were carried 
through the crowd, amid imprecations and abuse. A 
little more, and the image of Marie Antoinette would 
have been treated in the same way. " From a chaos 
of tranquillity," wrote Mirabeau, "France has passed 
to one of excitement." The Parliament, protesting 
against the King's bed of justice, November 19, 1787, 
said in its list of grievances: "Such measures are 
not in accordance with your heart; such examples 
are not Your Majesty's principles ; they spring from ' 
another source." These mutinous words were an 
allusion to the Queen. Brienne, though he gov- 
erned so badly, clung eagerly to power. He ex- 
changed his bishopric of Toulouse for that of Sens, 
which was much more lucrative, thus acquiring a 
revenue of six hundred and seventy-eight thousand 
francs; and moreover had himself presented with 
a timber privilege, to the value of nine hundred 
thousand francs, to pay his debts. 

Everything became disorganized. The exile of the 
Duke of Orleans to Villers-Cotterets, the arrest of 
the Councillor d'Espremesnil, the limitation of the 
powers of the parliaments, the formation of a full 



THE ASSEMBLY OF NOTABLES. 177 

court for the registration of edicts, failed to check 
the ever-growing spirit of revolt. Serious trouble 
broke out in many parts of the kingdom. The King, 
gliding rapidly down the fatal path of concession, 
decided to convoke the States-General, which the 
insurgents so noisily demanded. A resolution of the 
Council, August 8, 1787, appointed May 1, 1789, for 
the holding of the States-General, which were so fatal 
to the monarchy. It was the date set in the preced- 
ing year by the prophetic spirit of Mirabeau, the 
future tribune. The old regime itself determined 
the hour of its own death. 

A few days later (August 25, 1788), Brienne, suc- 
cumbing beneath the weight of his unpopularity, left 
the ministry ; and Louis XVL, conquered by new ideas, 
called to power the friend of the liberals, the great 
banker, the celebrated theorist, the author of the 
famous Meport, the idol of the philosophers and of 
the admirers of the English constitution, the father 
of Madame de Stael, — Necker, the Genevese. There 
was a moment of enthusiasm ; for a few hours the 
Queen enjoyed a breath of popularity ; but the oppo- 
sition to her only redoubled in intensity when it be- 
came known that Brienne, who had been supposed to 
be in disgrace, was going to receive a cardinal's hat. 
Events brought out the character of this prelate, one 
of the four who gave their adhesion to the civil consti- 
tution of the clergy. Put into disgrace by a brief of 
Pius VL, declaring him deprived of all ecclesiastical 
dignities, he boasted of having been one of the pro- 



178 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

meters of the Revolution, and presented himself as a 
candidate at the election to the legislative assembly, as 
constitutional bishop of Sens, and in spite of all his 
concessions, nothing but his sudden death saved him 
from the guillotine. Marie Antoinette cruelly re- 
pented the jDrotection she had given him. "I have seen 
the Queen," Madame Campan wrote, " shedding bitter 
tears over her wrongs at this period, when Brienne, 
shortly before his death, dared to say in a speech 
which was printed, that a part of what he did during 
his ministry had no other object than the healthy 
crisis which the Revolution had brought about." 

Necker was an honest man and a skilful financier. 
He was a slave of public opinion and very desirous 
of popularity; and thus, like all such people, was 
carried further than he had intended. Although a 
fervent Royalist, he prepared the Republic without 
knowing it. The Revolution began in the early days 
of his second ministry. The Parliament was exceeded, 
like Necker himself. He declared that the States- 
General should be convoked regularly, according to 
the form observed in 1614 ; that is to say, according 
to conservative rules. Nothing more was needed to 
deprive the old assembly of the popular favor in a 
single day. Its army of advocates, attorneys, nota- 
ries, practitioners, students, deserted it. The Par- 
liament was already punished for its opposition to 
royalty, and its attacks against the crown turned 
against itself. Its end was not a natural one ; it 
died by its own hands. 



THE ASSEMBLY OF NOTABLES. 179 

Necker called the Notables together agam, to lay 
before them questions relative to the composition 
and form of the States-General. They met for the 
second time at Versailles, November 6, 1788. Was 
the Third Estate to have a representation equal to 
that of the nobility and clergy? Were the votes 
to be taken by classes or individually ? The whole 
Revolution lay in the way in which these two ques- 
tions were settled. An enormous majority of the 
Notables pronounced against the double representa- 
tion of the Third Estate, and yet Louis XVI. was 
imprudent enough to place himself on the side of the 
minority. This was the opinion of Marie Antoinette, 
who, despite her fears, still had illusions. In vain 
did the Count of Artois, the three Cond^s, and the 
Prince of Conti address a memorial to the King, in 
which they denounced "the Revolution which was 
preparing in the principles of government." The 
unhappy monarch, misled by his exaggerated kind- 
ness, was fascinated by 

" that spirit of independence, and error, 
The forerunner of the fatal fall of kings." 

The Queen was persuaded that the bourgeoisie, 
represented by the Third Estate, was devoted to the 
throne, that the lower clergy would be held by the 
hope of preferment ; that Necker would have author- 
ity over the lawyers and others of that class who 
composed the Third Estate. The Count of Artois, 
who held the contrary opinion, almost quarrelled with 



180 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Marie Antoinette. The Ducliess of Polignac and all 
her society sided with the Prince against the Queen. 
Distraught by so many intrigues and such contra- 
dictory counsels, the unhappy Queen could find no 
peace in her friend's drawing-room. She still went 
there, in order not to betray any change in her habits, 
but she was greeted with such cold respect that she 
always went away in sore distress. 

December 27, 1788, Louis XVI., "in accordance 
with the wishes of a minority of the Notables, the 
demand of the provincial assemblies, the opinion of 
publicists, and the many addresses presented on this 
subject," ordered that "the number of the deputies 
to the States-General should be at least one thousand, 
and that the number of the deputies of the Third 
Estate should be equal to that of the clergy and 
nobility together." When the news of this royal 
declaration became known, Paris illuminated. The 
monarchy was lost. ^ 



XVIII. 

THE PROCESSION OF MAY 4, 1789. 

FORTY years before 1789, one of the Ministers 
of Foreign Affairs of Louis XV., the Marquis 
d'Argenson, wrote these prophetic words : " There pre- 
vails a philosophic wind of free and anti-monarchical 
government. Possibly the revolution will meet with 
less opposition than is expected ; it may take place 
by acclamation. . . . All classes are discontented at 
the same time ; a riot may easily grow into a revolt, 
and a revolt into a revolution, in which there would 
be elected tribunes of the people, comitia, communes. 
. . . The whole nation would take fire; and if it 
became necessary to assemble the States-General, 
these states would not assemble in vain. It will be 
well to take care." 

It must be said in justice to Marie Antoinette that 
she understood that the summoning of the States- 
General would be fatal to royalty. On the day when 
she learned that Louis XVI. had decided to convoke 
them, she happened to be coming from the public 
dinner ; she detested all the splendor, which was at 
once painful to her eyes, and sought refuge in her 

181 



182 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

bedroom, where she stood in the embrasure of the first 
window, gazing into the park. She sent for Madame 
Campan, and said to her : " Heavens, what is this news 
we hear to-day ? The King has permitted the States- 
General to be summoned." Then, raising her eyes to 
heaven, she adcTed, " I am very much afraid that this 
important event is a gloomy token for France." And 
her eyes, filled with tears, were turned to the ground. 

Marie Antoinette perceived that she was betrayed 
on every side. The clergy, far from trying to appear 
as a mediator, sought only to encourage the opposi- 
tion, and blindly followed a few restless, stubborn, 
and vain bishops. The nobles, a feeble, inharmo- 
nious body, made annoying murmur, as the Baron of 
Besenval expressed it. The Anglomania of which 
the young men and the women were the victims 
turned them from an interest in horse-races to a pas- 
sion for politics. Even in the King's ante-chamber 
the most seditious utterances were heard. 

The men who should have been the Queen's most 
chivalrous defenders, such as the Duke of Orleans, 
the Duke of Lauzun, the Marquis of La Fayette, had 
become her foes. She, with her loyalty, kindness, 
and generosity, was amazed at human ingratitude, 
and nothing could explain to her the violent and 
unjust hatred which pursued her. Even the minis- 
ters, instead of supporting the throne, only weakened 
it. Augeard tells us in his interesting Memoirs, 
that the Queen said to him in May, 1789, "Do you 
think that M. -Necker wishes to deceive us?" "I 



THE PROCESSION OF MAY 4, 1789. 183 

don't know, Madame, that M, Necker wishes to de- 
ceive us, but I am sure that he deceives himself. 
For the state, it is exactly the same thing." "What ! 
M. Necker would make us stake our kingdom double 
or quits ? " " Madame, I should deem you lucky in 
that case ; Your Majesties would have one chance in 
your favor ; now I don't know a single one." " Heav- 
ens, what do you say ? " and the Queen burst into 
tears. 

Marie Antoinette was of the opinion that the States- 
General should meet at some town distant sixty 
leagues from Paris, instead of being convoked at 
Versailles. Necker successfully opposed this wise 
opinion. The councillors of Louis XVI. had reached 
the highest pitch of blindness and imprudence. As 
the Count of Vaublanc said : " The ministers were 
ignorant of the history of France, or they would have 
known that before Louis XVI. no king had conceded 
any part of his own authority. . . . They would 
have remembered that when Anne of Austria-, in her 
regency, desired to convoke the States-General, the 
great Conde, whom she consulted, told her that 
a prince of the blood ought to lose his life before 
enduring the convocation of these states which had 
wrought so much harm to France." 

The summoning of the States-General was, alone, 
a great fault ; but what rendered this fault irremedi- 
able was the choice of Versailles as the place of 
meeting. " How," to quote from the Duke of Levis, 
" how could boldness have been carried so far as to 



184 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

establish an assembly to control the destinies of 
France, and one in which so much preponderance 
had been given to the popular party, at a distance 
of four leagues from the capital, which was a centre 
of intrigue and corruption, and crowded with a pop- 
ulace excitable and open to bribery." 

The lot was thrown. These States-General which 
had been so long awaited, which were regarded as an 
instrument of salvation, as a universal panacea, were 
about to meet. The first session was appointed for 
May 5, 1789. 

A great religious ceremony opened in peace the 
era of tempests. There was a solemn procession 
which took place the evening before the day the 
Assembly was to be opened, to pray for the blessings 
of God upon their work. The throne and the altar, 
before being overthrown, arrayed themselves in ma- 
jestic pomp, and the ancient monarchy, which was 
doomed to perish by one concession after another, 
appeared once more with the prestige and ceremony 
of its venerable glory. 

This flame, which was so near extinction, was scat- 
tering its final rays, lighting the horizon like a set- 
ting sun, and the same people who were about to 
utter cries of fury and vile blasphemies against their 
God and their King, still sang canticles, and walked 
piously in a procession. On that day Robespierre 
himself carried a candle. 

TherQ is now in the palace of Versailles a hall 
called the Hall of the States-General, and is so called 



THE PROCESSION OF MAY 4, 1789. 185 

from the pictures it contains, representing these as- 
semblies. Especially noteworthy is a long and fine 
frieze painted by M. Louis Boulanger : the subject is 
the procession of May 4. 

At ten in the morning, Louis XYL, clad in the 
royal robes, and accompanied by the princes of his 
family, all wearing the robes of the different orders, 
issued from his apartment. He entered a state car- 
riage with the Count of Provence and the Count of 
Artois. At the coach doors were the young Dukes 
of Berry and Angouleme and the Duke of Bourbon. 
The Queen was in another carriage. The princesses 
and the princes of the blood came next. This mag- 
nificent procession was to go to the church of Notre 
Dame. After a short prayer, the procession began 
to form, headed by the banners of the two parishes : 
that of Notre Dame in front, next that of Saint Louis. 
Then came the Recollects, followed by the parish 
clergy. After them marched the deputies of the 
Third Estate, in two parallel lines, each one, like all 
in the procession, carrying a candle. They were 
dressed in black, with a little silk cloak, a cravat of 
white muslin, a three-cornered hat without edging or 
buttons. After the Third Estate came the nobility. 
The deputies wore a very rich dress, — a black cloak 
with a gold facing, a lace cravat, white silk stock- 
ings, and a hat with white feathers, turned up like 
that in which Henri IV. is always represented. 
Then followed the deputies of the clergy, in two 
files, separated by the royal musicians, the body- 



186 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

guard and the Swiss soldiers. In front were the 
deputies of the town clergy ; behind them, near the 
canopy under which was the Holy Sacrament, marched 
cardinals, archbishops, and bishops. The canopy was 
carried by the high officers and gentlemen of honor 
of the King's two brothers. The front strings Avere 
held by the Dukes of Angoul^me and of Berry ; the 
hind ones, by the Counts of Provence and of Artois. 
Under the canopy, the Archbishop of Paris carried 
the Holy Sacrament. The King was among the high 
officers of the crown, in the middle of the two. files 
following the canopy. The Queen ,was at the head 
of the left-hand file, in which were' the princesses and 
their ladies. The right-hand file was composed of 
princes of the blood, dukes, and peers. At the head 
marched the Duke of Chartres (later Louis Philippe). 
He was followed by the Prince of Conde, the Duke 
of Bourbon, the Duke of Enghien, the Prince of 
Conti. Then came the dukes and peers. The French 
and Swiss guards were drawn up in line from the 
church of Notre Dame, where the procession started, 
to the church of Saint Louis, whither it proceeded. 
The way was strewn with flowers, rich stuffs, and the 
crown tapestries decorated the streets. The crowd 
was enormous. A magnificent spring sun lit up this 
festival of church and crown. Those of the princes 
who were too young to take part in the procession 
were allowed to look at it. The Dauphin was in the 
great stables ; the Duke of Normandy (Louis XVII.) 
and Madame Royale (the Duchess of Angouleme) 



THE PROCESSION OF MAY 4, 1789. 187 

were at the windows of a house hi the rue de la Pa- 
roisse Saint Louis, opposite the pavilion Beauregard. 
Starting from the church of Notre Dame, through 
the rue Dauphine, the Place d'Armes, the rue Sa- 
tory, the rue de I'Orangerie, the rue de la Paroisse 
Saint Louis, — that is the route of the procession. 

The sight of the Holy Sacrament, the religious 
pomp, the pious songs, the odor of the flowers and of 
the incense, the cheering sunlight, gave hope for a 
brief moment to the heart of Marie Antoinette, who 
warmly prayed God for a good result to France. 
Suddenly, ominous clamors aroused the gloomiest 
presentiments. The Queen, as she passed, heard 
some women of the people, those who later, doubt- 
less, used to knit at the foot of the guillotine, crying 
out, " Long live the Duke of Orleans ! " with such 
evident ill-feeling that she turned pale and nearly 
fainted. She was snpported by some of her suite, 
who feared for a moment that it would be necessary 
to stop the procession. But the courageous sovereign, 
for whom the future had so many trials in reserve, 
soon recovered herself. The procession reached the 
church of Saint Louis, where mass was said. Like 
the Divine Master, whose sacrifice was commemo- 
rated, the pious Louis XVI. was to have his Calvary. 
On his return to the palace he was greeted by an 
enthusiastic crowd. Hosannahs still sounded; but 
soon the " Let him be crucified " was to be heard. , 



XIX. 

THE OPENING SESSION OF THE STATES-GENERAL. 

MAY 5th opened the most famous assembly of 
modern times, — one which put an end to the 
old regime and began a new world. From early 
morning Versailles was in a turmoil ; everywhere it 
was felt that a solemn event Was about to begin. 

Let us take a look at the assembly-room before the 
arrival of the deputies. The place is that in which 
the Notables used to sit, — the Hotel des Menus Plai- 
sirs, near the palace, in the Avenue de Paris, at the 
corner of the rue Saint Martin. The room is twenty 
feet broad and fifty-seven long, and is surrounded 
with fluted Ionic columns without pedestals. In the 
ceiling there is an oval opening, and the light which 
comes through this passes through a screen of white 
silk. In the aisles benches have been arranged for 
the spectators, and at a certain height there are bays 
with balustrades. At the end of the hall rises a plat- 
form for the King and the court ; it is semicircular, 
and is elevated a few feet, and covered with a carpet 
of violet velvet with gold fleurs de lis ; above it is a 
grand canopy, with its rim fastened to the columns. 

188 



OPENING OF THU STATES-GENERAL. 189 

The throne stands under a magnificent baldaquin 
decorated with long golden fringes. To the left are 
a large armchair for the Queen, and stools for the 
princesses; to the right were camp-stools for the 
princes; at the foot of the throne, to the left, was an 
armchair for the Keeper of the Seals ; to the right, 
a camp-stool for the High Chamberlain; at the foot of 
the platform, a bench and a large table for the Secre- 
taries of State ; on each side of this table are benches 
reserved for the fifteen Councillors of State and the 
twenty Masters of Requests invited to the meeting, 
as well as for the Governors and Lieutenants-General 
of the provinces. Running lengthwise in the hall 
are other benches — those on the right, for the depu- 
ties of the clergy ; those on the left, for the deputies 
of the nobility ; at the end, opposite the throne, for 
the deputies of the Third Estate. The floor is cov- 
ered with handsome carpets from the Savonnerie 
factory. 

The meeting was to open at one o'clock in the after- 
noon. At nine in the morning every gallery, every 
bench, was occupied. Two thousand persons were in 
their places. With the exception of the tribune set 
apart for the diplomatic body, all the front benches 
were reserved for ladies, who all wore their finest 
dresses. 

Between nine and ten the Marquis of Dreux-Breze 
and two masters of ceremonies began to arrange the 
deputies in their places according to their bailiwicks. 
This took two hours. Necker's appearance was 



190 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

greeted with a round of applause. Two other rounds 
broke forth when the Duke of Orleans was seen 
entering with the deputies of Cr^py-en-Valois, and 
insisting that the cure of the deputation should enter 
before him. The nobles wore a black cloak with 
gold stuff, and a cocked hat a la Henri IV. Their 
splendor presented a marked contrast with the modest 
and colorless dress which etiquette demanded to be 
worn by the deputies of the Third Estate, who ap- 
peared, with a sort of defiant humility, in black coats, 
short cloaks, and hats without bands or buttons. The 
cardinals wore their red caps; the archbishops and 
bishops, in the front row of the benches destined for 
the clergy, appeared in rochets, camails, square caps, 
and violet cassocks. The deputies numbered in all 
1183: of these 291 were clergy; 2T0, nobles ; and 622, 
of the Third Estate. The King-at-Arms and the four 
heralds, dressed in armor, were stationed at the en- 
trance of the* hall. Sentinels, under arms, stood in 
each tribune, and in every place between the columns. 
When all had found their place, the King and 
Queen were notified, and they at once made their en- 
trance, accompanied by their suite. The moment the 
King appeared, the whole assembly arose and broke 
into enthusiastic applause ; cries of " Long live the 
King!" burst forth on all sides. This tumultuous 
uproar was followed by a long and respectful silence 
so long as Louis XVI. remamed standing while the 
court took their places. General admiration was felt 
for the calmness of this good and generous monai'ch's 



OPENING OF THE STATES-GENERAL. 191 

expression, for the confidence it wore, and for his 
majestic and paternal air. The Queen seemed less 
easy; but her somewhat pensive and anxious face 
was lit up by a few smiles before the warm greeting 
of the three orders. 

Louis XVI. wore his royal robes, and a hat with 
feathers and ribbons, adorned with diamonds. He 
raised his hat for a moment, put it on again, and then 
read with much dignity a speech which reflected all 
the noble feelings that animated his heart. Every- 
thing which could be hoped for from the tenderest 
interest for the public happiness, everything which 
could be demanded of a sovereign, the first friend of 
his people, could be expected of their King by the 
deputies of the three orders. This speech, which was 
read with perfect ease and a lofty air, was frequently 
interrupted by applause. At that moment Louis 
XVI., in the consciousness of his honesty and of his 
loyal and pure intentions, doubtless imagined that 
France was capable of understanding him. 

After the King, the Keeper of the Seals spoke, 
recalling all the sacrifices His Majesty had made, and 
was still ready to make, to establish the general hap- 
piness on the basis of public liberty. Then it was 
Necker's turn. The reading of his report took three 
hours ; it was listened to with the deepest attention. 

There is now to be seen at Versailles a fine picture, 
painted by M. Auguste Conder, which represents 
the session we have just described. The moment 
selected by the artist is that in which Necker is 



192 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

standing before the ministerial bench, delivering his 
speech. In front, to the left, are to be seen, among 
the deputies of the clergy, Saint-Aulaire, Bishop 
of Poictiers ; Lefranc de Pompignan, Archbishop of 
Vienne; Boisgelin, Archbishop of Aix; and Talley- 
rand, Bishop of Autun. To the right, in front of 
the Third Estate, sits Boissenot, deputy from Bor- 
deaux ; in the next row, Bailly ; in the third, the 
Breton workingman Gdrard, deputy from Rennes ; in 
the fourth, Barnave and Robespierre ; in the fifth, 
Chappelier; further still, Mirabeau, and near him, 
the Abb^ Siey^s ; and finally, on the last bench, to 
the extreme right, Rabaud de Saint-Etienne, Kauff- 
mann, and Duport. At the end is the place for the 
deputies of the nobility, where are to be distinguished 
the Duke of Rochechouart, the Marquis of La Fay- 
ette, Casal^s, the Duke of Richelieu, the Duke of 
Liancourt. In front of the three orders is Louis 
XVL, seated on his throne ; on his left are Marie 
Antoinette, Madame Elisabeth, Madame Adelaide, 
Madame Victoire ; on his right, the Count of Prov- 
ence (Louis XVIIL), the Count of Artois (Charles 
X.), the Duke of Berry, the Duke of Angouleme, the 
Duke of Chartres (Louis Philippe). 

When the ceremony was over, the King rose and 
remained standing for a few minutes. Then His 
Majesty departed amid the applause of the whole 
assembly, and cries of " Long live the Queen ! " 
mingled with cries of " Long live the King ! " 

Optimists imagined that everything was saved; 



OPENING OF THE STATES-GENERAL. 193 

wiser heads thought all was lost. Madame de Stael, 
who was m the gallery with Madame de Montmorin, 
the wife of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, expressed 
her delight and her hopes for the country. "You 
have no reason to feel happy," answered the Minister's 
wife ; " from all this there will issue great disasters 
to France and to ourselves." Madame de Montmorin 
was right: her husband was slain at I'Abbaye in 
1792 ; she herself and her son were guillotined. 

At last the States-General, who opposed to the 
King what they called the Nation, were invested with 
terrible powers. The real nation was with the King, 
whom it loved and honored, Avhose loyalty, kindness, 
and virtue it esteemed and admired. But there were 
a few ambitious spirits who, in the hope of imposing 
upon public opinion, were determined to try to have 
it believed that a handful of revolutionaries was the 
French people. The unhappy monarch fell blindly 
into the snare which his enemies had laid for him. 
Marie Antoinette, charming, affable, and amiable, 
flattered herself perhaps that she would be able, by 
the charm of persuasion, to bring back to kindlier feel- 
ings those who had strayed away ; but this, alas ! was 
an error. Nothing can correct or improve men of 
bad faith. The Queen soon perceived the singular 
malevolence to the royal family and the court which 
the deputies had brought from their provinces. 
She heard, with amazement, their strange questions 
about the King's alleged intemperance and the Asiatic 
luxury of the Trianon. Since the simplicity of this 



194 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

country-seat, which, was far less sumptuous than many 
bankers' houses, did not correspond with the idea 
which certain deputies had formed of it, they main- 
tained, when visiting the Little Trianon, which was 
the subject of a number of stupid fables, that the 
most extravagantly furnished rooms were closed to 
them. They insisted on being shown an imaginary 
drawing-room, which they said was decorated with 
diamonds, and with twisted columns covered with 
rubies and sapphires. The Queen of France was 
compelled to be civil to these uneducated and mali- 
cious men. She did the honors of Versailles with 
exquisite grace, and with untiring kindness, talked 
with them about their families and their local inter- 
ests. There were some deputies who puritanically 
refused to go to court. They were soon to be Repub- 
licans, if they were not already. They lodged at 
Versailles, in the houses of revolutionary citizens, 
who, from stupidity or jealousy, retailed the most 
ridiculous stories, the vilest calumnies about the 
Queen. Other deputies, to be sure, expressed to her 
devotion and respect, but a secret instinct told her 
that whatever she might do, she was a marked vic- 
tim of fate. At times she would have a gleam of 
hope, and her natural energy would inspire her with 
confidence in her power to brave every peril and 
avert every stroke of fate. Soon, however, she fell 
back into her customary anxiety, and she felt crushed, 
overwhelmed, by a hand of iron. She saAV in the 
future a bottomless pit, a gulf of fire and blood, to 



OPENING OF THE STATES-GENERAL. 195 

which all concessions were swiftly bearing her. 
Something told her that while to-day resistance was 
possible, to-morrow it would be too late. But every- 
thing stood in her way, — her husband's weakness, the 
ministers' sophistries, the blindness and selfishness of 
all who surrounded her, the revolutionary passions 
which were breaking out in even the highest ranks 
of French society. What could she hope for in that 
situation? What can a woman, however generous 
and brave she may be, do against a combined world? 



XX. 

THE DEATH OF THE DAUPHIN. 

EVER since the opening of the States-General, 
Marie Antoinette had been anxious and restless. 
Since she could scarcely sleep, she used to go to bed 
very late and meditate on the ever-serious incidents 
of the day. One evening, towards the end of May, 
the unhappy Queen was sitting in her bedroom, talk- 
ing with Madame Campan about the morning session. 
There were four candles burning on the dressing- 
table. One went out of itself ; Madame Campan lit 
it again. Then the second, and soon the third also, 
went out. Then Marie Antoinette, clasping in alarm 
the hand of her faithful companion, exclaimed : " Mis- 
fortune makes me superstitious. If the fourth candle 
goes out like the other three, nothing can prevent 
my regarding it as an evil omen ! " — the fourth can- 
dle went out. 

At that very moment a terrible blow was hanging 
over the Queen's head : she was about to lose her old- 
est son, the young Dauphin, whose birth, seven years 
before, had filled all France with joy and congratu- 
lations. For many months he had been ailing. While 

196 



THE DEATH OF THE DAUPHIN. 197 

apparently in flourishing health he was suddenly 
attacked by the rickets which curved his spine, hol- 
lowed his face, and made his legs so weak that he 
had to be helped in walking, like an infirm old man. 
His suffering and exhaustion were omens of another 
death-struggle, — that of the monarchy. 

Already in the previous year, Marie Antoinette 
knew the catastrophe which threatened her as queen 
and as a mother. When, at the formal reception of 
the ambassadors of Tippoo Sahib in 1788, she ap- 
peared on her grand throne, in the Hall of Hercules, 
majestic, resplendent, covered with the richest of the 
court jewels, and the representatives of the Asiatic 
monarch, dazzled by the more than Oriental luxury, 
ecstatically admired, more than the statues and pic- 
tures, more than the silver and gold, than the em- 
broideries and diamonds sparkling everywhere, the 
beauty of the unrivalled Queen, — this proud woman 
before whom every one was prostrating himself as 
before an idol, hid beneath her diadem the crudest 
anxieties. 

From this reception of the Asiatic ambassadors, 
one child was absent, — the Dauphin. The young 
Prince had been very anxious to be present, but he 
was already so reduced that his appearance would 
have made a painful impression on the company, and 
Marie Antoinette was unwilling to have him appear. 
And so at the very moment when it was probably 
thought, amid all this pomp and show, that the Queen 
of France and Navarre was enjoying to the full the 



108 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

happiness of power and pride, lier heart was torn by 
keen anguish. She knew that the heir of this mighty 
throne was condemned, and beneath her crown this 
poor mother and hapless queen felt iron nails that 
pierced her brow. Does it not seem as if every one 
who entered the palace of Versailles was cursed by 
fate ? The Indian ambassadors were put to death 
by their master, and in a year this imposing French 
court was broken up. These great lords and ladies 
were forced to emigrate, or if they stayed they paid 
the penalty with their lives. Grass was to grow on 
the pavement of the palace, and the former sanctuary 
of the absolute monarchy was to become a vast sepul- 
chre. (What sadder story can be found than that of 
the Dauphin's fate, whose baptism was celebrated 
January 21, and Avho died at the very moment when 
there opened an assembly, fatal to the monarchy, and 
whose sufferings Avere a sort of prelude to those of 
his brother, the martyred child,' who was to bear the 
title of Louis XVIL? 

Since April 16, 1789, the young invalid had been 
quartered at Meudon, but neither the wholesome air 
of this place nor the tender care which encompassed 
him could prolong his life. A few hours before his 
death, he asked M. de Bousset, his valet de chambre, 
for a pair of scissors ; he then cut off a lock of his 
hair, and wrapped it up carefully in a piece of paper. 
" See here. Monsieur," he said to his valet de chambre, 
whom he dearly loved, " this is the only present I can 
make to you, for I own nothing else : but when I am 



THE DEATH OF THE DAUPHIN. 199 

dead, you will give that to papa and mamma; when 
they remember me, I hope they will remember you." 

The child died at the age of seven years and seven 
months, in the night of June 4, 1789, one month to 
a day after the opening of the States-General. He 
drew his last breath in the arms of his mother, to 
whom he Avas heard to say that he only suffered at 
seeing her cry. This cruel loss broke the Queen's 
heart, and her sufferings turned her hair white, 
though she was but thirty-four years old. She had 
her portrait painted about this time ; and when she 
gave it to Madame de Lamballe, she wrote • under- 
neath, " Unhappiness has turned her hair white." 

June 5, the body of the Dauphin was exposed in 
the castle of Meudon, on a state-bed. The 8th, the 
princes of the blood and deputations of the three 
orders w^ent to sprinkle holy water in the coffin. 
The 13th, the heir to the French crown was buried in 
the Abbey of Saint Denis very quietly, in the pres- 
ence of but a few persons. 

Poor boy ! He was lowered, as Bossuet says, to 
that subterraneous dwelling, "to sleep in the dust 
with the great of the earth, with the vanished kings 
and princes among whom there is hardly room for 
him, so close are the ranks, so quick is death to fill 
the gaps." Alas ! the quiet of his grave was not to 
be defended by the guard of kings, his ancestors, who 
had preceded him to the grave. To desecrate a 
child's tomb and to scatter his ashes is an exploit 
befitting the heroism of Jacobins. And what day do 



200 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

they choose for this odious task ? October 16, 1793, 
the day when his unhappy mother, who had so 
mourned her boy, was led to her execution. Yes, at 
the very hour when Marie Antoinette bowed her 
head on the scaffold, the exhumers of kings hastened 
to Saint Denis to tear the great of the earth from 
their tombs, to melt the lead of their coffins, and to 
thro^ into a common ditch their despoiled bodies. 
In this sacrilegious work they grew jealous of death, 
and like vultures disputed their prey ; and that day 
they profaned among other graves those of Henrietta 
of England, of the Princess Palatine, of the Regent, 
of Louis XV. Compare the two scenes, — the scaf- 
fold of Marie Antoinette and this desecration of the 
tombs at Saint Denis, — with the transport of joy 
that, twelve years before, had hailed this child's birth 
and greeted his mother's happiness ; then ask in what 
romance, however gloomy and terrible, you can find 
anything more moving and more terrible than the 
contrast between such realities. 



XXI. 

THE ADVAI^TCE OF THE REVOLUTION. 

THE end of governments is seldom a natural 
one ; it is generally a suicide. They generally 
perish because, while they possess the force of right, 
they hesitate to use the right of force. A sort of 
madness leads them to lay down their arms, to spike 
their guns, to dismantle their fortresses, and to sur- 
render, bound hand and foot, to their irreconcilable 
enemies. Those sovereigns who sacrifice their indis- 
pensable authority to necessary liberties are like the 
lion in love : they let their talons be clipped and their 
teeth be drawn. Then they blame others for faults 
which in fact are but the result of their indecision 
and weakness. They weaken themselves, forgetting 
that the first duty of a government is self-defence; 
that an unpunished riot is a dishonor, a slap in the 
face of the prince who endures it ; that the control 
of order should outweigh all other considerations, 
and that it is a cruel thing to let many thousand 
innocent victims perish to spare a few criminals. 
There are circumstances in which a ruler has no right 
to withhold punishment : when pity is only weakness 

201 



202 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

and humanity simply abdication. No monarch who 
hesitates in face of a revolt deserves to rule. What 
would one think of a soldier who should fear to use 
his weapon on the battle-field? Politics is a battle. 

An honest man, whose Memoirs, Guizot has said, 
will be much read, though less than they deserve, — 
Malouet, the last politician, according to Burke's 
expression, to watch at the bedside of the expiring 
monarchy, — says, with justice, that there is no ex^ 
cuse for the ministers of Louis XVI. " That King," 
he says, " had a just mind, which would have made 
him adopt the wise combinations proposed to him, if, 
instead of showing him the difficulties and dangers 
of firmness, they had convinced him of their neces- 
sity." 

And how could the ministers reduce him, at the 
end of 1788, to a real suspension of his royal func- 
tions through the indecision with which they let him 
approach the question of the States-General ? It was 
no longer the King who spoke, but the consulting 
attorney of the crown, asking counsel of everybody, 
with an air of saying to every man he met : " What 
must I do ? What can I do ? What part of my au- 
thority is it desired to retrench ? What will be left 
to me?" 

M. Charles Aubertin justly says in his excellent 
book, L' Esprit public au dix-hiiitiime siecle, that it 
took Louis XVI., with all his faults, three years to 
bring about a dethronement which was mainly his 
own work, and that he took all this time to descend 



THE ADVANCE OF THE REVOLUTION. 203 

from a throne from which now one falls in a few 
hours. At the beginning of the Revolution all 
Frenchmen, even Marat and Robespierre, were Royal- 
ists, and, as Michelet has remarked with truth, the 
one of the three orders most favorable to royalty was 
the Third Estate. Mirabeau announced his intention 
to attack the bureaucratic despotism in order to exalt 
the royal authority. ^The situation was in no way 
desperatey 

It is the fashion nowadays, in a certain historical 
school, to represent accomplished facts as the conse- 
quence of an inevitable fatality, which prudence, wis- 
dom, and genius would have been powerless to resist. 
(To us nothing seems more opposed, not merely to 
the freedom of the will and to human dignity, but 
also to the philosophy and majesty of history, than 
I , this Mohammedan fatalism which deprives the affairs 
of this world of their interest and moral value.) In 
' our opinion M. Aubertin is right in saying, "How 
frivolous to believe that events which have never 
been resisted, that unrestrained and unscrupulous 
passions, would have followed the same course if a 
firm will had undertaken to direct and control them ! " 
We agree with M. de Montlosier in thinking that, 
with such aid as was afforded by the conduct of 
Louis XVI., the upheaval might have taken place in 
even the richest and most prosperous kingdom in the 
world. The Count of Vaublanc completes the accu- 
racy of this remark by an axiom which is thoroughly 
confirmed by the history of the nineteenth century : 



204 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

" In France it is always the ruler and his ministers 
who overthrow the government." 

Malouet accurately judged the faults of the mar- 
tyred King when he said : " Between the King and 
his council there was an alternation of mistakes about 
everything which might be regarded as a prudent 
or a vigorous measure. Thus the King, who had a 
passive courage, felt a certain shame about leaving 
Versailles ; he was perfectly conscious of the danger, 
but he hoped to avoid it by a display of strength. 
When it was necessary to use it, he could not decide 
to draw his sword on his subjects. I linger with 
regret on this unhappy monarch's faults ; for, with 
his kind heart, he deserved a cfrfferent fate : there 
was a certain captain of the grenadiers who would 
have saved him if he would have let him." 

Louis would have been puzzled if he had been 
asked exactly what it was he wanted. He wavered 
between the nobility and the Third Estate, between 
the old regime and the new. All his actions and 
all his words were full of humanity, kindness, and 
justice. He was a philanthropist, an honest and a 
virtuous man, but he was not a king. The prey of 
the illusions of a period given up to vain dreams, he 
could not believe in evil, and he judged others by 
himself. 

As for Marie Antoinette, who was justly alarmed 
by her husband's indecision, her position was most 
painful. It was not easy for her to urge vigorous 
measures, and an appeal to force when her husband 



THE ADVANCE OF THE BEVOLUTION. 205 

was all weakness. As a worthy daughter of Maria 
Theresa, she naturally inclined to energetic decis- 
ions. She would have liked to ride before her troops ; 
but this was impossible when Louis XVI. opposed 
every demonstration of force, and was absolutely 
unwilling to abiandon the paternal attitude which 
suited the wishes of his heart and his instinctive 
tendencies. 

Meanwhile the peril was increasing from day to 
day. June 17, 1789, the Third Estate, with some 
members of the clergy, announced itself to be the 
National Assembly. June 20, the de^juties found 
the hall in which they met closed by superior order, 
and they went to the Tennis Court, and took the 
famous oath. 

June 23, Louis XYI. published an order establish- 
ing the maintenance of the three orders, and com- 
manding the deputies to separate. At the same time 
he decreed motu proprio the greatest reforms, — the 
abolition of the pecuniary privileges of the nobility 
and the clergy, commercial liberty, the establish- 
ment of provincial states, and a number of innova- 
tions, each more liberal than the others. In his 
speech he uttered this sentence which is full of 
noble optimism : " I can frankly say that never has 
a king done so much for any nation ; but what other 
has so well deserved it by its loyalty as the French 
nation?" And he closed his harangue with these 
words : " If you desert me in this noble undertaking, 
I shall alone establish the welfare of my people. It 



206 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

is possibly a i^are occurrence for the monarch's sole 
ambition to be that his subjects shall agree to accept 
his benefits." 

Six months earlier this declaration would have met 
the idea and the desire of the States-General ; but it 
came too late, especially when the government had 
not decided to put an end to the Assembly. This 
indecision of those in power encouraged the Revolu- 
tion, and Mirabeau was able to utter to the Grand 
Master of Ceremonies the famous phrase, which would 
have been impossible a few weeks before : " Go tell 
your master that we are here by the power of tlfe 
people, and that we shall be driven away only by the 
force of bayonets." 

To save the crown and France Louis XVI. had 
four things to do, — to acknowledge of his own will, 
by virtue of his sovereign power, what are called the 
principles of 1789 ; to dissolve the States-General ; to 
exile the Duke of Orleans ; to have the rioters shot. 
If he had done these things, Louis XVI. would have 
been a great man ; but he preferred to be a victim. 
There is no need of speaking about fatality; the 
only fatality was the King's weakness. He was 
the author of his own fall. 

June 23, the unhappy monarch must have seen the 
gulf toward which all his concessions were driving 
him. Necker, who was always desirous of popularity, 
had refused to accompany Louis XVI. to the royal 
meeting, which, in the eyes of Marie Antoinette, was 
an act of treachery or of cowardice. Well, at the 



THE ADVANCE OF THE REVOLUTION. 207 

very moment when the nobles imagined that every- 
thing was righted by the sort of bed of justice which 
the King had just held, and when the Queen, holding 
her son in her arms and displaying him to her faith- 
ful servants, indulged in a blind confidence, outcries 
were heard in the palace courtyard. It was the 
crowd. calling Necker, and noisily congratulating him 
on not having taken part in the royal meeting ; then 
they carried him home in triumph, and made him 
appear at his window amid frantic applause. The 
Queen herself entreated Necker not to resign his 
portfolio. The true King of France was no longer 
Louis XVI. : it was the Genevese banker. 

In Paris, disorder grew steadily. The populace, 
allured by bribery, prepared for the approaching in- 
surrection. At the Palais Royal, which had become 
a hotbed of anarchy, the most incendiary motions fol- 
lowed one another without interruption. 

June 30, rioters broke open the prison of the 
Abbaye, and set free several of the French guard who 
were confined for insubordination. At last Louis 
XVI. seemed to awake from his torpor. In accord- 
ance with the advice of the Queen, and of the ma- 
jority of the ministers, six thousand men were can- 
toned in the Champ de Mars. Twelve thousand 
men were encamped at Versailles and in the suburbs 
of Paris. The Marshal of Broglie was put in com- 
mand of the troops. He established his headquarters 
in the palace of Versailles, and turned the garden 
into a camp. His ante-chamber was crowded with 



208 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

orderlies and officers ready for seryice. He had put 
a regiment in the Orange House. The royal party 
was divided into a group of optimists and a group of 
alarmists ; while these last thought everything lost, 
the others spoke with scorn of the masses of the 
populace, saying that "one need only pull down 
liis hat over his eyes to disperse them, and that 
when the time had come, one did not know how to 
pull down his hat." Louis XVI. did not know to 
which side to listen. His brothers counselled vig- 
orous action ; Necker dissuaded him from it. Every 
regiment that arrived gave the Genevese minister 
more annoyance. As the Baron of Besenval reports, 
"Every argument which was brought up to him fell 
to the ground before the possible anger of the National 
Assembly." 

There was a lack of harmony between the Marshal 
of Broglie, in command at Versailles, and his subor- 
dinate, the Baron of Besenval, in command of Paris. 
A fatal blunder had been made in leaving in gar- 
rison in the capital the regiment of French guards 
who had been corrupted by the revolutionary prop- 
aganda. Confusion was wide-spread. The troops, 
perceiving that they were insufficiently led, and the 
police, perceiving that they were not properly sup- 
ported, became demoralized. It was not a camp of 
six thousand men that should have been established 
in Paris, but one of sixty thousand. No preparations 
were made to defend the Bastille, and there was not 
a single regiment to protect the arsenal of the H6tel 



THE ADVANCE OF THE BEVOLUTION. 209 

des Invalides. The ministers of Louis XVI., as 
weak in strategy as in politics, were incompetent to 
take the most rudimentary precautionary measures. 

July 11, the King perceived, a little late, the errors 
into which Necker had led him. He urged that 
minister to leave without telling any one of his 
departure. Necker obeyed, and at once betook him- 
self to Switzerland, not even informing his daugh- 
ter. The Marshal of Broglie entered the new minis- 
try. But the military measures were so incomplete 
and clumsy, the number of the troops was so small, 
the dread of shedding the blood of the rioters had so 
paralyzed the government, such scandalous impunity 
had been accorded to the revolutionary doings of the 
Palais Royal, every arm of power had been so weak- 
ened, that the catastrophe broke forth. 

Malouet says very truly : " The Reign of Terror, 
which was not proclaimed by the pure Republicans 
till 1793, will be acknowledged by every impartial 
man to have begun in 1789. The first club of the 
Palais Royal (the club of Yalois, of which Siey^s, then 
a partisan of the Duke of Orleans, was one of the 
founders), and then the Breton Club, which became 
the Jacobin Club, were the inventors of this infernal 
machine, which might easily have been destroyed 
before it exploded." But what could be expected 
of a government that let the troops be attacked with 
insulting language, stones, and pistol-shots, "while 
the soldiers made no threatening gestures in reply, 
so great was their respect for the order not to shed a 



210 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

single drop of citizens' blood " ? The capture of the 
Bastille, so vaunted by the Revolution, was no diffi- 
cult feat. That famous fortress was garrisoned by 
only a hundred soldiers, almost all disabled, and there 
was not a single regiment to defend its approaches. 

The insurrection had begun July 12. The troops 
who had assembled that day in the Place Louis XV, 
were thoroughly discouraged when they saw that 
their commanders would not let them use their weap- 
ons. Neither the police nor the army could save a 
government against its will. The 13th, the gun-sel- 
lers' shops were pillaged, and the Paris militia was 
organized, which was to become the National Guard. 
The morning of the 14th, the rioters had taken all 
the arms from the H6tel des Invalides, which was 
entirely without means of defence. " The disorder 
grew from hour to hour," says the Baron of Besenval, 
" and my embarrassment also increased. What plan 
was to be followed ? If I should let my troops get 
engaged in Paris, I should start civil war. . . . Ver- 
sailles neglected me in this cruel situation. ... I de- 
cided that the wisest course was to withdraw the 
troops and leave Paris to itself." The 14th, there 
were three Siviss regiments still encamped in the 
Champ de Mars, with eight hundred mounted men, 
hussars, and dragoons. The prevailing opinion of the 
general officers who were assembled at the Military 
School was that nothing of importance could be accom- 
plished by so small a force. While at the other end 
of Paris the rioters were taking possession of the 



THE ADVANCE OF THE BEVOLUTION. 211 

Bastille, the troops did not stir. That evening they 
withdrew to Sevres, in accordance with the orders of 
the Marshal of Broglie. 

What was going on at Versailles while the army 
was thus retreating before the Revolution ? The 
previous evening the Assembly had begun a session 
which was to last sixty consecutive hours amid con- 
fusion and alarm. It was rumored that the King was 
preparing to flee ; that the Queen, the Duchess of 
Polignac, and the princes had been seen in the 
Orange House, distributing food to the officers and 
men; that in the night of the 14th, Paris was to 
be attacked at seven points, the Palais Royal sur- 
rounded, and the National Assembly dissolved. 
News came of the attack upon the Bastille, and 
every one listened to hear the distant roar of the 
cannon. The Assembly, in terror, sent to the King 
one deputation after another. To the first Louis 
XVI. made reply that he had just ordered the with- 
drawal of the troops from the Champ de Mars, and 
that having been informed of the formation of the 
Civic Guard, he had appointed officers to command it. 
To the second he said : " Gentlemen, you wring my 
heart more and more by what you tell me concerning 
the unhappy events in Paris. It is impossible that 
the orders given to my troops should be the cause." 
The Bastille had been captured, July 14, at half-past 
five in the evening, and Louis XVI. had gone to bed 
before any one had consented to break the fatal news 
to him. It was his faithful officer, the Duke of Lian- 



212 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

court, Grand-Master of the Wardrobe, who, in spite of 
the ministers, woke him up and told him what had 
happened. " What a revolt ! " exclaimed the King. 
" Sire," replied the Duke, " say rather, what a 
revolution ! " 



XXII. 

THE DEPARTURE OF THE DUCHESS OF POLIGNAC. 

THE Bastille had just been taken. The insur- 
gents who had conquered without a struggle, 
imagined that the next day they would be confronted 
by an imposing force, and did not dare to show them- 
selves. Versailles intimidated Paris, and Paris intim- 
idated Versailles. There were still many regiments 
on whose fidelity Louis XVI. could absolutely count. 
Nothing would have been easier for him than to 
Avithdraw to a fortified city at some distance from 
the capital, and there to speak like a king. But it 
was in vain that Marie Antoinette counselled ener- 
getic measures ; he preferred dismissing the troops 
and playing a sentimental part before the Assembly. 
He appeared there on the morning of the 15th, with 
no escort or guards, accompanied only by his two 
brothers. 

Standing bareheaded, with no sign of pomp, with- 
out even using the armchair placed on the platform, 
the heir of Louis XV. seemed to be begging forgive- 
ness of the subjects who had defied his authority. 
" You were afraid," he said ; " well, it is I who have 

213 



214 - MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

confidence in yon." His speech was simple and 
touching. The deputies applauded the amiable mon- 
arch, and accompanied him on foot to the palace. 
The courtyards were filled with a vast throng. They 
asked the King, Queen, and their children to appear 
on the balcony. Marie Antoinette asked Madame 
Campan to fetch the Dauphin. The Duchess of 
Polignac, the governess of the royal children, under- 
stood that she was not to accompany the young 
Prince, and she exclaimed, "Oh, Madame Campan, 
what a blow I have received ! " Then she kissed the 
Dauphin and withdrew to her own room, in tears. 

After taking the child to the Queen, Madame 
Campan went down into the courtyard. Threatening 
words were spoken there with sullen wrath. "I 
know you very well," muttered one veiled woman. 
" Tell our Queen not to meddle with the government. 
Let her leave her husband and the good States-Gen- 
eral to make the happiness of the people." " Yes, 
yes!" exclaimed a man dressed like a produce por- 
ter, " tell her that these States are not like the others, 
which were of no use ; that the country is too intelli- 
gent not to get some good from them ; and that there 
will not be a single deputy of the Third Estate to 
speak with one knee on the ground. Tell her that 
■ — do you understand ? " 

At that moment the Queen appeared on the bal- 
cony above the marble courtyard. " Ah ! " said the 
veiled woman, " the Duchess of Polignac isn't with 
her." " No," added the man, " but she's still at Ver- 



THE DEPARTURE OF THE DUCHESS. 215 
r 

sailles. She's like a mole, and works under ground; 
but we shall know how to get a spade to dig her 
out." 

In the afternoon, as Madame Campan was passing 
along the terrace on her way to Madame Victoire, 
she saw three men arrested under the windows of the 
throne-room. One of them shouted loudly, " That's 
where the throne is, and soon people will be hunting 
for pieces of it." Then all broke out into abuse of 
the King and Queen. One of these was Saint- 
Huruge, one of the men of the Duke of Orleans. 

Meanwhile, deputations of iishwomen kept coming 
to ask Louis XVI. to return to Paris, and the agi- 
tation continued in the rebellious city. What was 
he to do ? Obey the demands of the populace and 
plunge into that seething abyss, or withdraw from 
Versailles with the faithful troops whom he had just 
ordered to retreat ? Marie Antoinette, whose instinct 
did not deceive her, urged the second course. She 
had already burned a number of her papers and put 
her most valuable jewels in a strong box which she 
meant to take with her. But in the morning of the 
16th, it was decided that the troops should depart 
without the King, and that the unhappy monarch, 
trusting to the loyalty of his good city of Paris, 
would go alone, the next day, to his rebellious sub- 
jects. 

From the moment that Louis XVI. adopted this 
resolution, it became impossible for the Count of 
Artois, the Princes of Conde, and the Polignac fam- 



216 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



ily to stay longer in France. The King ordered 
them to leave. In vain the Count of Artois, who 
was courage personified, offered to enter the insur- 
gent city alone, or at any rate to accompany him 
on his visit appointed for the morrow ; Louis XVI. 
declined the generous offer, and bade the Prince to 
leave the kingdom at once, together with his two 
sons, the Dukes of Angouleme and of Berry. The 
same order was given to the Prince of Conde, to his 
son, the Duke of Bourbon, to his grandson, the Duke 
of Enghien, and to the Prince of Conti, The three 
sons of France and the four princes of the blood 
obeyed, with despair in their heart, and in the even- 
ing of July 16 took leave of the King, whom they 
were never to see again. 

At almost the same moment, at eight o'clock in 
the evening, the Queen sent for the Duke and Duch- 
ess of Polignac. With a voice broken with emotion, 
Marie Antoinette stammered out: "The King is 
g-oinp" to Paris to-morrow; if he is asked — I fear the 
worst. In the name of our friendship, leave. . . . 
There is yet time to save you from the fury of my 
enemies ; by attacking you they mean to attack me. 
Do not be victims of your devotion and of my friend- 
ship." 

It was necessary to leave at once, without delay — 
in a few hours, at midnight. This departure seemed 
to them desertion, and dishonorable. Their devotion 
and courage could not consent to such a sacrifice. 
At this moment the King entered : " Come," the 



THE BEPARTUBE OF THE DUCHESS. 217 

Queen said to him, ''help me persuade these honest 
people, these faithful officials, that they must leave 
us." Louis XVI. approached sorrowfully the Duke 
and Duchess. "My cruel fate," he said to them, 
"compels me to send away all whom I esteem and 
love. I have just bidden the Count of Artois to leave ; 
I give you the same order. Pity me, but do not lose 
a moment ; take your family with you ; count upon 
me at any time. I shall keep your offices for you." 
And as he spoke the King burst into tears. Marie 
Antoinette kissed the Duchess, and the two friends 
parted forever. 

In less than three hours the preparations for depart- 
ure were finished. This Duchess, who was thought 
very rich, and whom the libellous writers of the time 
represented as one of the principal causes of the 
deficit, went away poor from Versailles, where she 
had been so calumniated, and at the last moment the 
Queen was obliged to give her a purse of five hun- 
dred louis to pay her travelling expenses. M. Cam- 
pan put her in her carriage at midnight. She was 
dressed like a chambermaid, and took her seat in 
front. With her were her husband, her daughter, 
the Duchess of Guise, her sister-in-law, the Countess 
Diane, and the Abbe de Balivi^re. Just as she was 
starting she received this note from Marie Antoi- 
nette : " Good by, dearest of friends ! What a pain- 
ful word it is, but it is necessary ! Good by ! I have 
only strength enough to kiss you." 

Sad fate and destiny ! This beautiful and charm- 



218 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

ing Duchess, whose success had aroused much jeal- 
ousy, friend of the Queen, governess of the royal 
children, was now treated like a condemned criminal. 
A moment before she had been told that the hour of 
exile had come, and that she could not see the sun 
rise at Versailles. She could not be allowed to give 
one last glance at the beautiful park, at its familiar 
shades ; but she must depart at once, at midnight, in 
disguise : it is all like a hideous nightmare. And 
then imagine the distress and anxiety that pursued 
the fugitives in their journey ! Was the Queen they 
had left to be saved or lost ? and the King, who was 
to start for Paris in the morning, would he be alive 
in the evening? That throne, with no army to de- 
fend it, would it be overthrown ? When would end 
this exile, begun so gloomily? 

On their way they heard threats and imprecations. 
If the fanatics who were declaiming against the 
authorities had known that the passing carriage con- 
tained the detested Polignacs, they might fear the 
worst. When they got to Sens they found that the 
populace had risen. An inquisitive crowd came up 
and asked them: "Do you come from Paris? Are 
the Polignacs still with the Queen ? " The Abbd de 
Baliviere remained perfectly calm, and answered 
quietly : " The Polignacs ? They are now a good 
way from Versailles. Those evil persons have been 
got rid of." 

At the next stopping-place a postilion got up on 
the step, and said to the Duchess : " Madame, there 



THE BEPARTUBE OF THE DUCHESS. 219 

are some faithful people in the world ; I recognized 
you all at Sens." And the Duchess slipped some 
louis into his hand. 

While the Polignacs were hurrying towards Switz- 
erland, Louis XYI., with a courage that equalled his 
honesty, was facing the populace of Paris alone, carry- 
ing words of peace and union. It was with the live- 
liest apprehensions that Marie Antoinette saw him 
depart. She feared that he might be detained as a 
hostage, or, possibly, be put to death. Nevertheless, 
he set forth in the morning of July 17. Twelve men 
of the body-guard and of the civic guard of Versailles 
accompanied him as far as the Point du Jour, near 
Sevres, when they left him, and their place was taken 
by the new National Guard of Paris. In their ranks 
were some of the French guards, who had taken part 
in the insurrection at the capture of the Bastille on 
the 14th. For artillery they had the cannons taken 
from the Bastille and the Invalides, and these tro- 
phies of rebellion seemed to threaten the King's car- 
riage. One musket went off, and mortally wounded 
a woman. People asked one another with alarm 
what would become of Louis XYI. 

It was after four in the afternoon that the King, who 
had left Versailles at ten in the morning, reached the 
H6tel de Ville in Paris. Encompassed by a throng 
full of sullen hostility, the amiable monarch, to 
whom Bailly had just said, "Henri IV. had con- 
quered his people, to-day it is the people who have 
reconquered their King," mounted the steps of the 



220 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

staircase, beneath an archway of crossed swords, which 
were as much a menace as an honor. The attitude 
of the crowd continued cold. Not a cry of " Long 
live the King ! " had been uttered. Louis XVI. 
appeared on the balcony; Bailly gave him the tri- 
colored cockade, and he fastened it on his hat. Then 
the crowd applauded ; the usual cheers rent the air. 
The good father, who fancied that he had recovered 
the love of his children, wept for joy. " Cubi^res," 
he said to one of his equerries, '.'the French loved 
Henri IV., and what King ever better deserved their 
love ? " Ah ! it was not of Henri IV. that Louis 
XVI. should have been thinking, but of Charles I. 

Meanwhile Marie Antoinette, in a fever of anxiety, 
was counting the minutes. At one moment she was 
pacing up and down her room, at the next she was 
on her knees, praying God to be merciful. Every hour 
messengers brought her the news from Paris. She 
had already heard how coldly Louis XVI. had been 
greeted at his entrance. Convinced that her husband 
would be held as a hostage, she exclaimed, "They 
will not let him come back ! " She blamed herself 
for not going with him. If he became a captive, she 
determined to share his fate, and to surrender her- 
self, with her children, to the National Assembly, 
making them a speech which she already knew by 
heart. It began thus : " Gentlemen, I come to place 
in your hands the wife and the family of your King; 
do not suffer earth to separate those whom Heaven 
has joined." She sent for several of her courtiers, 



THE BEPAUTUBE OF THE DUCHESS. 221 

but their doors were found locked ; they had fled in 
terror. A death-like silence prevailed in the palace. 
The little Dauphin stood with his face pressed against 
the window-pane, looking anxiously up the Avenue de 
Paris, eagerly awaiting his father's return. " Why," 
he asked, "why should they hurt papa? he is so 
good." 

At last, at about ten o'clock, carriage wheels were 
heard. It was the King, coming back safe and sound, 
pleased with the day and contented with his people. 
Marie Antoinette uttered a cry of joy, and ran to 
meet her husband. On the steps of the marble stair- 
case they fell into each other's arms. Versailles was 
full of rejoicing; the crowd, carrying branches of 
trees, in token of its delight, made its way into the 
palace courtyard. The King appeared twice, with 
his family, on the balcony, in answer to the cheers 
and applause. He kept repeating, as he recounted 
the events of the day: "Happily, not a drop of 
blood was shed. I swear that not a drop of French 
blood shall ever be shed by my orders." 

In short, the courage, the generosity, the kindness 
of the King had been admirable; but something 
more was needed to direct the masses. If they were 
not held in awe by force, their hearts softened but for 
a moment, to resume speedily their violent passions. 
Louis XVI. deceived himself when he thought that 
he had tamed the savage monster by his gentle looks ; 
the next day it was to roar again. 



XXIII. 

THE QUEEN AND THE MARQUIS OF LA FAYETTE. 

THE moment was approaching when Marie An- 
toinette was to find lierself in conflict with two 
men who had been her courtiers, whom she had made 
her debtors by her kindness, and whom the vicissitudes 
of politics were going to make her enemies. One 
was the Marquis of La Fayette ; the other, the Duke 
of Orleans. No one, a few years earlier, when the 
monarchy was at the height of its glory, would have 
imagined that a marquis and a prince of the blood 
would suddenly become the idols of the revolution- 
ists, and would hold in check the heir to the throne 
of Louis XIY. Periods of disturbances, are, how- 
ever, fertile in just such surprises, and the leading 
actors must themselves often be surprised at the part 
which fortune leads them to play in the drama of 
history, which is full of unexpected turns and changes. 
Early in the reign of Louis XVI. we saw the young 
Marquis of La Fayette in the charming court of 
Marie Antoinette. He was one of the young men 
who tried to revive the dress of Henri lY., and who, 
in the quadrilles at the Queen's balls, wore silk doub- 

222 



THE qUEEN AND LA FAYETTE. 22^ 

lets and caps with white feathers. He was born 
in 1757, and his father and mother having soon 
died, he came into possession of a vast fortune. In 
1774, when sixteen years old, he married a girl of 
fourteen and a half, Adrienne de Noailles, daughter 
of the Duke of Ayen, who was himself the son of the 
Marshal of Noailles, and of Anne Louise Henriette 
d'Aguesseau. The Marquis of La Fayette lived 
with his wife and her parents in the rue Saint 
Honore, in the splendid Noailles mansion, which 
stood where now runs the rue d' Alger. At that 
time he had a cold and serious air, which seemed to 
indicate shyness and timidity, and presented a marked 
contrast to the sprightliness, frivolity, and witty 
talkativeness of his friends. Beneath this cloak of 
apparent coldness was hidden an ardent nature, the 
mainspring of which was an unbounded love of fame. 
He had been devoted to women before he became 
ambitious of glory. The Count of S^gur could not 
keep from smiling when the Marshal of Noailles said 
to him, " Do use your influence with La Fayette to 
warm his coldness, to arouse him from his indolence, 
to give him some of the fire of your character." 
"Better than any one," explains the Count, "was I 
able to understand him, for in the previous ' winter 
(1776) he had been in love with a very beautiful 
and charming woman, and had taken it into his head 
that I was his rival ; hence, although we were friends, 
in an access of jealousy, he had spent nearly a whole 
night with me, trying to persuade me to contend, 



224 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

sword in hand, for the heart of a beauty in whom 1 
took not the slightest interest." 

Great was the surprise in Paris and at Versailles 
when it was learned that this nineteen-year-old sage, 
who seemed so cold and indifferent, had, against the 
King's orders, chartered a ship at his own expense, 
and crossed the ocean to fight for American liberty. 
Without a regret he left the delightful court life, his 
magnificent home, the meeting-place of elegance and 
intelligence, to plunge into the wildest adventures. 
His wife, who was devoted to him, showed Christian 
stoicism, and did not try to detain him. In 1807, 
shortly before her death, her husband recalled this 
distant memory. " Do you remember the first time I 
went to America? At M. de S^gur's wedding you 
concealed your tears. You didn't wish to seem dis- 
tressed, lest it should make people think ill of me." 
"True," she said, "it was very thoughtful for a 
young girl. But how kind it is of you to remember 
it all this while ! " ^ 

Although La Fayette had committed an act of dis- 
obedience by going to fight under the American flag, 
Marie Antoinette never forbore to treat him with 
great kindness. She often received him when he 
returned to France in February, 1779, and with her 
own hand copied these lines from the tragedy of 
" Gaston and Bayard," in which the Marquis's friends 
thought they saw a resemblance to him : — 

1 Life of Madame de La Fayette, by Madame de Lasteyrie, her 
daughter. 



THE QUEEN AND LA FAYETTE. 225 

" Profound in his plans, which he forms with coldness, 
It is for their accomplishment that he preserves his ardor. 
He knows how to defend a camp and to storm walls ; 

He loves battle like a young soldier ; 
Like an old general he knows how to avoid it. 
I like to follow him, and even to imitate him. 
I admire his prudence and love his courage ; 
With these two virtues a warrior is never old." 

La Fayette was the fashion. The famous battle of 
Beauge, in which an ancestor of his had defeated 
and killed the brother of Henry V. of England, and 
saved the crown of Charles VII. of France, was not 
made more of than was the battle of the Brandywine, 
in which the descendant of the illustrious warrior 
was wounded in heading a charge of the American 
troops. When he returned to America for the second 
time, the government could not praise him too much 
or find benefits enough wherewith to reward the 
young champion of the new republic. 

January 21, 1782, a great festival was taking place 
at the H6tel de Ville in Paris, in honor of the birth 
of the Dauphin, when suddenly word came that La 
Fayette had just reached the capital. Madame de La 
Fayette, who was at the H6tel de Ville, then received 
an unusual mark of the Queen's favor and bounty ; 
for Marie Antoinette herself carried her in the royal 
carriage, to the H6tel de Versailles that she might 
as soon as possible welcome her husband. Every one 
became enthusiastic over the conqueror of Cornwal- 
lis; the infatuation was universal. At his sugges- 



226 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

tion the Queen had her full-length portrait painted, 
and she sent it to Washington. The King promoted 
him over all his fellow-officers, to raise him to the 
rank he had held in America. His bust was placed 
in the H6tel de Ville in Paris. His wife happened 
to be at an audience of the upper house of Parlia- 
ment the same day as the Grand Duke Paul, and the 
Attorney-General of the Court of Peers complimented 
her, as well as the son of the Empress Catherine. 

This reforming Marquis, who on his return to his 
native land, could show the scars of the wounds he 
had received in fighting for freedom, a republican 
decoration (that of the Cincinnati), to whom the 
United States had given the rights of citizenship, and 
Washington had treated like a son, came back more 
American than French, full of zeal for an exotic lib- 
erty which, Avhen transplanted in France, was to bear 
fruits very unlike those he expected. In Paris he 
had a board set up in a handsome frame ; there were 
two columns: on one was inscribed the American 
Declaration of Independence ; the other was left 
blank as if to await a similar Declaration on the part 
of the French. Intoxicated with popularity, he de- 
lighted in what he called "the delicious sensation of 
the smile of the multitude." He said himself that 
his reputation was a portion of his happiness without 
which he could not live ; his perfect confidence in his 
own ideas, his unfailing hopefulness, his canine love 
of fame, as Jefferson called it, his resolution to dis- 
regard all the lessons of experience, his firm faith in 



THE QUEEN AND LA FAYETTE. 227 

a golden age, even in one of iron, composed a charac- 
ter which was a curious mixture of heroism and sim- 
plicity. The Duke of Choiseul has named him Gilles 
Csesar ; Mirabeau used to call him Gilles the Great. 

" To judge him," M. Thureau Dangin has said, " it 
is only necessary to remember that he was always the 
man of the National Guard. He was in some way the 
incarnation of this grand illusion of civic liberalism. 
Having been called to the head of the National Guard, 
in 1789, after the fourteenth of July, he was given 
the same place in 1830. He called it his eldest 
daughter, and under the Restoration used to sign his 
manifests, " A National Guard of 1789." 

With all his obstinacy and fixity of purpose, he 
had a momentary hesitation before entering the path 
he so boldly followed. This was on the 22d of 
July, 1789. He had just been appointed commander- 
in-chief of the new militia, the National Guard, which 
flaunted the tricolor cockade, and had enlisted in the 
French Guards, who were devoted to the Revolution, 
a certain number of Swiss, and many soldiers who 
had deserted their regiments in the hope of better 
pay. With this revolutionary militia he expected to 
be able to maintain order — an illusion which he soon 
lost. Jnly 22d he saw an old man, one Foulon, 
seventy-six years of age, murdered before his eyes, 
in spite of every effort on his part to save the poor 
victim, who had been dragged to the H6tel de Ville 
with nettles around his neck, a bunch of thistles in 
his hand, a truss of hay behind his back, and was 



228 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

then hanged on a lamp-post by veritable cannibals. 
The Reign of Terror was beginning. On that day 
the Marquis of La Fayette was indignant ; he handed 
in his resignation, but, allured by the flattery of the 
populace, he hastened to withdraw it. Mirabeau said 
at the time, " Nations require victims," and Barnave, 
" Was the blood that was shed so pure ? " 

After this brief flash of clear-sightedness. La Fay- 
ette fell back into his customary illusions. Although 
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette had honored him 
with such great kindness, and his birth should have 
attached him to the monarchy, he who in less troubled 
times would have been one of the noblest and most 
faithful of the King's servants, was about to be led 
by a fatal chain of events to weaken the throne 
which it was his first duty to defend. The spirit of 
opposition was most prominent in this great demo- 
cratic nobleman, a revolutionist and a conservative by 
turns, who one day fomented a riot, and the next 
day repressed it ; who seemed to Louis XVI. and the 
Queen now like an enemy, and in a moment like a 
friend. 

Moreover, in 1789, he was no longer able to con- 
trol events. In the morning of October 5, the 
Parisian rabble, which had gathered in front of the 
H6tel de Ville, was shouting, " To Versailles ! to 
Versailles ! " La Fayette opposed this proposition. 
He rode up and down in front of a battalion of the 
National Guard which was drawn up on the quai de 
Grive, trying to gain time, in the hope that the crowd 



THE QUEEN AND LA FAYETTE. 229 

would abandon its plan. A young man who belonged 
to the battalion stepped out of the ranks, seized the 
bridle of his horse, and said, " General, hitherto you 
have commanded us ; now we are going to lead you." 
La Fayette looked at this young man, and in com- 
pliance uttered but one word, '"March! " 



XXIV. 

MAKIE ANTOINETTE AND THE DUKE OF ORLEANS. 

rr^HE Duke of Orleans, who was to be one of the 
JL most dangerous of the enemies of Marie Antoi- 
nette, was for a long time on good terms with her. 
The correspondence of the Count of Mercy- Argenteau 
shows no sign of any serious dissension between the 
Queen and the Prince. During the visit to the court 
of the Archduke Maximilian, in 1785, there were 
some few trifling matters of etiquette about which 
the Prince complained ; but that was all. The Prince, 
who was then styled the Duke of Chartres, becoming 
Duke of Orleans only in 1785, at the death of his 
father, was born at Saint Cloud, in 1747. At the 
beginning of the reign of Louis XVI. he was a 
young man of twenty-seven, devoted to pleasure and 
utterly indifferent to politics. The Queen treated 
him very kindl}^, and he took part in all the enter- 
tainments which she gave. In 1769 he had married 
the daughter of the Duke of Penthi^vre, and by this 
alliance he had come into possession of an enormous 
fortune, which the untimely death of his brother, the 
Prince of Lamballe, had made still greater, permit- 
ting him to live most extravagantly. 

230 



THE BUKE OF OBLEANS. 231 

In 1776, the Princess of Lamballe was able, by her 
influence with the Queen, to secure for the Duke 
the post of governor of Poitou. The same year, with 
the Count of Artois, the companion of his pleasures, 
he established horse-races, which was a favorite amuse- 
ment of Marie Antoinette. January 30, 1777, he 
gave the Queen a grand ball at the Palais Royal. 
The next day this paragraph appeared in the Journal 
de Paris : " To-day, at midnight, His Highness the 
Duke of Chartres gave a ball at the Palais Royal, 
to which the Queen and the royal family were in- 
vited." This statement was not perfectly correct : a 
queen is never invited to an entertainment ; she honors 
it with her presence. But in spite of what was said 
about it, the Queen willingly overlooked the blunder. 

In 1777, the Duke of Chartres served with distinc- 
tion on the ocean and in the Mediterranean. Having 
been appointed admiral, he was present in 1778, at 
the battle of Ouessant, in the Saint Esprit. It was 
by misunderstanding the signals, and not through 
lack of courage, that he sailed out of action, at the 
jdecisive moment, with the ships under his command. 
For a time the public reproached him with this blun- 
der, and it has been asserted that Marie Antoinette 
blamed him in the most cutting way ; but the Count 
of Mercy's correspondence does not corroborate this 
statement. On the contrary, the ambassador repre- 
sents the Queen as treating the Duke at this time 
with the warmest interest. November 17, 1778, he 
wrote to the Empress Maria Theresa as follows : — - 



232 MARIS ANTOINETTE. 

" The Duke of Chartres, who has been blamed for 
the loss of the victory at Ouessant, and has been, in 
consequence, in hot water with the high naval offi- 
cers, apjDealed to the Count of Artois, who persuaded 
the Queen to give to the Duke of Chartres the bene- 
fit of her protection. It had been suggested that he 
should honorably resign from the navy, and receive 
in return some special mark of distinction. For this 
purpose it had been proposed to revive the post of 
colonel-general of hussars and light cavalry ; but the 
King opposed those plans, and it required all the 
Queen's influence to carry them through. She gave 
them all possible aid." 

No one at that time could have suspected the future 
that awaited the Prince. The traditions of his fam- 
ily were rich in examples of fidelity to the monarchy. 
Without mentioning the brother of Louis XIV., who 
was all obedience and submission, his great-grand- 
father, the Regent, had exhibited the utmost devotion 
to the young Louis XV. ; his grandfather, whose last 
years were spent at the Abbey of Saint Genevieve, 
lived and died like a saint ; his father, whose second 
marriage was a morganatic one with Madame de Mon- 
tesson, was an amiable and kindly man, who took no 
interest in politics, and never in any way embarrassed 
Louis XV. or Louis XVI. With such models, the 
Prince, who later was to be called Philippe Egalit^, 
did not seem destined to play a revolutionary part. 

Led by circumstances, he had no idea whither he 
was going, and when he started he had no thought 



THE DUKE OF OBLEANS. 233 

of the abyss to which he was marching. The bare 
thought that he might become a regicide would have 
brought a smile to his lips. He was a witty, pleasant- 
tempered man, more eager for pleasure than for glory ; 
always in love, and especially with Madame de Buffon, 
like a youth of eighteen ; averse to work, careless, 
extravagant, with no settled plan of life; devoted 
to the pleasures of the table, to hunting, luxury, the 
theatre, races, gambling, and English fashions ; capa- 
ble of shining in boudoirs more than in public life ; 
distrustful of the demagogues, whom, however, he 
was always following ; more truly a courtier than a 
friend of liberty ; rather weak than wicked ; more to 
be pitied than blamed ; a sad and noteworthy exam- 
ple of what the revolutionary spirit can make out of 
a sympathetic nature. 

One of his most faithful friends, the beautiful 
Madame Elliott, an Englishwoman, thus speaks of 
him: "The Duke of Orleans was a very amiable 
man, with great charm of manner, of a yielding dis- 
position : never did there exist a man less fit to be 
the head of a great party. His mind, his talents, his 
education, in no way adapted him to this position; 
and for a long time I hoped that his heart would 
revolt at the thought of bringing his country to such 
a cruel condition of anarchy. His revolutionary 
friends at last understood him, for they could not 
induce him to take any interest in their plans. 
Some of them were lucky enough to patch up a 
peace with the court, leaving the poor Duke in the 



234 MARIE ANTOINETTE, 

hands of the wretches who surrounded him, and 
introduced to him others of the same kind, until at 
last they had brought him to ruin and disgrace." 

Madame Elliott, who was as kind as she was intel- 
ligent, continues with an emotion which was easily 
understood : "All this is painful for me to say ; for I 
had known the Duke of Orleans many years, and he 
had always been very kind and attentive to me, as he 
was, for that matter, to all who had anything to do 
with him. No one can form any idea of the way I 
suffered when I saw him gradually sinking into every 
sort of infamy, for I am thoroughly convinced that 
he never meant to go so far." 

At first the Duke's opposition was very gentle. 
He made frequent visits to England, and brought 
back the English fashions, ways, and amusements, 
as well as their political ideas. He was very enthu- 
siastic about parliamentary institutions, and persuaded 
himself that France ought to become a mixed mon- 
archy, in which the first prince of the blood should 
be the leader of the opposition. But opposition is 
a complicated bit of machinery into which one can- 
not thrust his finger, without getting his arm, and 
finally his whole body, caught. The downward path 
is easy and fatal ; it begins in the drawing-room, and 
ends in the street. At first one excuses one's self by 
calling patriotism and love of the public welfare what 
is really rancor or ambition. A man deems himself 
a good citizen, when he is, in fact, an insurgent. 

It is easy to set limits which are never to be passed, 



THE DUKE OF ORLEANS. 235 

but soon they are found too narrow. Things get 
more confused; calmness and moderation are lost. 
A man hates his enemies less for the harm they have 
done him than for the harm he has done them.} A 
sincere reconciliation soon becomes impossible ; an 
attempt is made to patch one up, but on both sides" 
there survive defiance and hatred, and the kiss of 
peace is a Judas kiss. Unhappy are those families in 
which the head has to treat and argue with those 
who owe obedience ! Officers should command 
respect from their soldiers; professors, from their 
pupils; masters, from their servants; fathers, from 
their children; sovereigns, from their subjects, and 
especially from the princes of their household. The 
higher a man's place in the monarchy, the more 
incumbent it is upon him to set an example of sub- 
mission to the sovereign ; and kings have no excuse 
for not enforcing this rule upon princes of the blood 
who are disposed to neglect it. Both the Duke of 
Orleans and Louis XVI. were guilty : one, of rebel- 
lion ; the other, of weakness. Instead of commanding 
and acting like a master, the good-natured monarch 
remained, in spite of his cousin, in one of those 
equivocal situations which give a king the advantage 
neither of severity nor of kindness. 

Rendered bold by the impunity he enjoyed, the 
Duke himself was surprised at the freedom that was 
given him; at the incompetence and indifference of 
the police ; at the ease with which the Palais Royal, 



236 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

which a few good patrols could have speedily mas- 
tered, became the headquarters of revolt. The Prince 
soon learned to despise a government which was so 
weak, so feeble, so undecided. A king who put him- 
self under guardianship, who resigned one by one 
all the prerogatives of authority, inspired him with 
nothing but contempt. The Duke imagined himself 
justified in anything. The needy intriguers, who 
desired to get what they could out of him, inspired 
him with ambitious ideas which he had not known at 
first, and these led him to his ruin. Possibly he was 
vain enough to imagine that he alone could govern 
France, and tried to justify his conduct to himself on 
this pretext. 

Marie Antoinette did not deceive herself about 
him. She knew that the Duke of Orleans was hence- 
forth an enemy with whom reconciliation was impos- 
sible. But, we repeat, the fault lay with Louis XVI., 
whose duty it was to crush the opposition at the 
beginning. Instead of that, the King tried half-way 
measures. If he did exile the Prince, the exile was 
only a short excursion. He let the Duke organize 
resistance while the Notables were sitting. At the 
opening of the States-General, he allowed him to 
sit among the deputies, for the sake of popularity, 
instead of on the platform, which was a proper place 
for a prince of the blood. He permitted the Palais 
Royal to become the seat of a second monarchy, a 
Parisian monarchy, full of revolutionary feeling, with 



THE DUKE OF ORLEANS. 237 

its budget, its officials, its army; he suffered Paris to 
be flooded with papers and pamphlets preaching an- 
archy — that the revolt should have its troops enrolled 
and paid. Never has a government so surrendered 
its powers. 

Had the Duke of Orleans been protected against 
himself, he would never have been a rebel ; but the 
King's incomprehensible indulgence transformed into 
an insurgent a prince who, under any other king, 
would never have had a guilty thought. " The 
Duke," Madame Elliott says elsewhere, " was fond 
of pleasure and detested work and business of any 
kind; he never read, and devoted himself solely to 
amusement. At that time he was madly in love with 
Madame de Buff on, whom he used to take out to 
drive every day and to the theatre in the evening. 
It was his misfortune to be surrounded with a troop 
of ambitious men who gradually used him for their 
own purposes, and made him see everything in a 
favorable light, urging him on till he saw himself so 
far in their power that he could not draw back. . . . 
I am sure that the Duke had no idea of seizing the 
throne, whatever may have been the plans of his 
friends. They expected, I fancy, if they succeeded, 
to govern him as well as France, and they were 
capable of any excess in pursuit of their ends." 

July 12, 1789, just before the capture of the Bas- 
tille, the Duke of Orleans went with Madame Elliott, 
Prince Louis of Aremberg, and a few other friends, to 



238 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

dine at his castle of Raincy. It was a Sunday. In 
the morning he had left Paris perfectly calm; on 
returning in the evening, he heard of all the disorder 
which had broken out during the day, of the insur- 
rection, with the cries of "Long live the Duke of 
Orleans ! " " Long live Necker I" of the Prince of 
Lambesc's charge, and of the great agitation of the 
city and the suburbs. " When I heard of all these 
things," says Madame Elliott, " I entreated the Duke 
not to enter Paris in his own carriage. I thought it 
would be very imprudent for him to appear in the 
streets at such a moment, and I offered him my car- 
riage. He seemed surprised and much impressed 
by what had happened in Paris. He hoped, he said, 
that it would not turn out to be anything serious, 
and that fear had made my servant exaggerate the 
truth. ... I besought the Duke to go at once to 
Versailles, and not to leave the King so long as Paris 
was in such disorder. ' If you do this,' I said, ' you 
will show that the populace made use of your name 
without your knowledge and consent. You will do 
well,' I added, ' to tell the King how much you are 
distressed by all that has happened ! ' " The Duke 
gave his word that he would go to Versailles at seven 
o'clock the next morning ; and he did go, but he was 
not well received. On his arrival he went straight 
to the King, who had just got out of bed. The King 
took no notice of him ; but since it was the custom 
that when a prince of the blood was present, that he 



THE DUKE OF ORLEANS. 239 

should give the King his shirt, the gentlemen of the 
bedchamber handed the shirt to the Duke of Orleans, 
for him to put it over the King's head. The Duke 
went up to the King, who asked him what he wanted. 
The Duke, putting the shirt on the King, answered, 
" I have come to receive Your Majesty's commands." 
The King answered very severely, " I have no need 
of you ; go back where you came from." 

From that time there was an open feud between 
the Prince and the court. " From that moment," 
says Madame Elliott, " I found the Duke much more 
violent in his political views ; and though I never 
heard him speak otherwise than with respect about 
the King, I have often heard him speak with great 
bitterness against the Queen. I was very sorry for 
it. The court would have done better to remember 
the Duke's influence, and to hesitate about offend- 
ing him ; for I am very sure that if he had been 
treated with consideration at that time, and any 
confidence had been shown him, it would have been 
possible to get him loose from the dangerous influ- 
ence of the men who surrounded him." 

The lot was thrown. The descendant of Saint 
Louis and of Henri IV. was about to become a regi- 
cide. Verifying by his fate the words of Scripture, 
that if a house be divided against itself, that house 
cannot stand, he, like Samson, was to be crushed 
under the columns he pulled down with his own 
hands. In less than ten months the scaffold of 



240 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Louis XYI. and Ms ov/n were raised, and he could 
say, like Macbeth, soliloquizing over Duncan's mur- 
der : — 

" But here, upon this hank and shoal of time, 

****** 

We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
To plague the inventor : this even-handed justice 
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
To our own lips." 



XXV. 

THE BANQUET OF OCTOBER 1. 

THURSDAY, October 1, 1789, the theatre of the 
palace of Versailles was in great commotion ; 
towards four in the afternoon a great banquet was to 
be given there. At the request of a delegation of 
the municipality of Versailles, which was alarmed by 
threats of disorder, the garrison of the town had been 
strengthened by a regiment from Flanders, which had 
arrived September 23. An immemorial custom of the 
French army required that every regiment arriving 
in a town should be given a dinner of welcome by 
the other corps. This rule was observed Avith regard 
to the regiment from Flanders, and the King's body- 
guard, who gave the dinner, were authorized to use 
the palace theatre for this purpose. The officers of 
the regiment of the Three Bishoprics and those of the 
National Guard were also invited. 

On the stage, which was adorned with scenery rep- 
resenting a forest, was set a table, in the form of a 
horseshoe, with two hundred plates. In the orches- 
tra were the trumpeters of the body-guard and band 
of the Flemish regiment. The pit was filled with the 

241 



242 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

men of this regiment and of that of the Three Bish- 
oprics. In the boxes were many spectators, admitted 
without tickets. The various uniforms, the brilliant 
lighting, the arrangement of the stage and its decora- 
tions, the gorgeous dresses of the ladies, combined to 
form a most impressive spectacle. At the beginning 
of the banquet, the feelings that inspired the troops 
made themselves manifest: the officers swore that 
they would defend the throne and, if need be, would 
die for the King; the soldiers expressed the same 
devotion. It was a festival of honor and fidelity. 

A lady of the palace; thinking that such a sight 
would please and console the royal family, went to the 
Queen and told her what was going on, advising her 
to visit the spot with Louis XVI. and the children. 
The King, who had been hunting in the park of 
Meudon, entered the palace at that moment. He 
approved of the plan, and suddenly made his appear- 
ance in the royal box with the Queen, his son, and his 
daughter. The band played the air from "Richard 
Coeur de Lion " : — 

" Oh, Richard ! oh, my King ! the world abandons you " ; 

then the air from the " Deserter " : — 

" Can one pain what one loves ? " 

The assembled throng began to cheer; the men 
waved their hats, the women their handkerchiefs, 
with the wildest enthusiasm. The royal family left 
their box and walked through the hall. The Queen, 
who led her son by his hand, was glad to show him 



THE BANQUET OF OCTOBER 1. 243 

to her faithful servants, whose applause brought tears 
to her eyes. She remembered the Hungarians who 
said to her mother, Maria Theresa, Moriamur pro rege 
nostra. Her face, which was generally so sad, was lit 
up with a ray of happiness. Like Homer's Androm- 
ache, she smiled amid her tears. 

It was a grand festival, a great manifestation of 
chivalric honor. It is easy to imagine Marie Antoi- 
nette's feelings at finding friends when she thought 
herself abandoned. Misfortune makes the soul ten- 
der and open to impression ; the slightest marks of 
sympathy call forth lively gratitude. How often, 
when she was living in the fiery furnace of the Revo- 
lution, the unhappy Queen must have recalled this 
last hour of happiness, this last ray of the sun of 
royalty, gilding the swords that were drawn to 
express devotion towards her ! It is easy to under- 
stand the admiration, the ardor, with which the sight 
of this woman, so noble and so calumniated, must 
have filled those generous souls ! Even now one 
feels the quiver of enthusiasm, the magnetic current 
which swept through the hall, and the impression pro- 
duced on these ardent souls by the sweet and touch- 
ing melodies which were wonderfully applicable to 
the circumstances 1 Gr^try, one might almost say, 
was inspired by prophecy when he gave to Blondel's 
words an accompaniment so moving and tender. The 
music admirably expressed the fervor which filled 
every heart with devotion and loyalty. As for me, 
when present at the turbulent meetings of the Na- 



244 MAMIE ANTOINETTE. 

tional Assembly, in this same hall which has seen so 
many vicissitudes, it has happened to me more than 
once to think, not about the deliberations of the dep- 
uties, but of the banquet of October 1, 1789. "What 
I listened to was not the speeches of the orator ; no, 
it was to the distant echo of the band of the Flemish 
regiment playing that air from " Richard." ^ 

The repast, which had been interrupted by the visit 
of the royal family, was resumed after their depart- 
ure. When it was over, the guests, the musicians, 
and the spectators all went into the marble courtyard 
and began to cheer once more. A soldier of the regi- 
ment from Flanders climbed up to the windows of 
Louis's chamber, to cry, " Long live the King ! " close 
to His Majesty. The festivity continued with sere- 
nades and processions until late in the night. These 
joyous sounds reached the King in his room, and the 
Queen, tasting a moment of consolation, felt happy 
in a day of which she did not see the morrow. 

The next day the vilest and most shameless calum- 
nies were industriously circulated. The revolution- 
ary pamphleteers resolved to turn the pathetic scene 
to ridicule, to represent this peaceful entertainment 
as an orgy, as a terrible debauch. Gorsas, the future 
Girondist, asserted in the Courrier de Versailles, that 
the health of the nation had been proposed and 
rejected, and that the drunken guests had trampled 

1 A reference to the sessions of the French Chambers held at 
Versailles for several years after the Franco- Prussian war of 1870- 
71. — Tr. 



THE BANQUET OF OCTOBER 1. 245 

on the national cockade. Some years later the 
Queen, before the Revolutionary Tribunal, took pains 
to refute this absurd calumny. "It is incredible," 
she said, " that such loyal beings should have been 
willing to change and trample on a token which the 
King himself wore." 

But hatred found any weapon good to use against 
Marie Antoinette. The Revolution desired at any 
price to sully her, because it well knew, as Mirabeau 
once said, that " the only man the King had about 
him was the Queen ! " 



XXVI. 

THE FIFTH OF OCTOBER. 

MARIE ANTOINETTE'S joy over the evi- 
dences of devotion and loyalty which found 
expression at the banquet of October 1 was destined 
to be of but brief duration. The next day the wild- 
est calumnies began to circulate once more, and this 
most generous sovereign was represented as a second 
Catherine de' Medici, preparing another massacre of 
Saint Bartholomew. Such ingratitude and malevo- 
lence, such a depth of infamy, crushed the unhappy 
Queen. She, whose character was kind and tender, 
could not comprehend the malice, cruelty, and degra- 
dation of human nature. But her grief was not 
bitter or noisy; she reflected calmly and seriously, 
and pardoned everything. 

In the morning of October 5, she was in the Little 
Trianon, long the seat of the rustic pleasures of the 
royal family. We all know what a melancholy thing 
it is to revisit in unhappiness places we have known 
when happy. As Bossuet says : " Already there is a 
change ; the gardens are less rich with flowers, the 
flowers are less brilliant, their colors less vivid, the 

246 



THE FIFTH OF OCTOBER. 247 

meadows less smiling, the water is less clear. . . . 
The shadow of death is drawing nigh ; one perceives 
the proximity of the fatal gulf. One has to march 
to the edge. . . . One tries to turn back, but it is 
impossible ; everything has vanished, everything has 
disappeared." 

For some time the Trianon had been deserted. 
The Queen's last stay there had been from July 15 
until August 14, 1788, and since then she had spent 
only a few hours there, wandering in silent revery 
beneath the shades which were full of pleasant mem- 
ories. She was soon to be deprived of the pleasure 
of looking at the rustic scenery — that last consola- 
tion of afflicted hearts. The moment was approach- 
ing when she was about to be cast into the Tuileries, 
her first prison, and when she should be forbidden to 
revisit the gardens of the Trianon. 

It was a dark, rainy day ; the whole landscape and 
the pretty hamlet were gloomy and melancholy. The 
lawn where charming entertainments used to be 
given, the trees which in old days had. been lit up 
by fireworks, the Swiss huts where Gessner's idyls 
and Florian's pastoral had been represented, were 
now much changed! The willows bending sadly 
over the lake were real weeping willows. Swans 
were floating on the water ; might one not say that, 
like the swans of legend, they were about to sing the 
last song over the death of royalty? The wind 
roared hoarsely. Poor Queen ! The autumn gloom 
was in full harmony with her spirit; it seemed to 



248 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

weep in sympathy with her. Seated alone, in a 
grotto, like a statue of Grief, she thought of the 
sombre present and of the still more sombre future. 
She watched the leaves fall like the illusions of youth, 
like glory, like happiness, like power. Everything 
was full of quiet and melancholy ; silence reigned in 
the deserted garden. She was not to enjoy for long 
this period of tranquillity. She is interrupted by 
some one bringing a letter from the Count of Saint 
Priest, summoning her to return at once to the pal- 
ace of Versailles. 

What had happened ? Uneasiness was marked on 
every face. One of the equerries, M. de Cubieres, had 
hurried off after the King, who was hunting peace- 
fully, and found him at three o'clock near Meudon. 
Louis XVI. called for his horse, and just when he 
was placing his foot in the stirrup, a knight of Saint 
Louis, falling on his knees, said aloud: "Sire, you 
are deceived ; I have just come from the Military 
School ; I have seen nothing but a crowd of women 
who say they are coming to Versailles to ask for 
bread. I beg Your Majesty not to be afraid." 
" Afraid, sir ! " the King answered with warmth ; 
" I have never in my life been afraid." Then gallop- 
ing down one of the steepest slopes in the Meudon 
forest, he hastened to Versailles, where he found the 
Queen. 

In Paris all day the excitement had been excessive. 
Women had been running up and down the streets, 
crying out that there was no more bread at the 



THE FIFTH OF OCTOBER. 249 

bakers' shops. They had hastened to the H6tel de 
Ville to complain of the authorities. The rioters 
sounded the tocsin, and Maillard, who had been con- 
spicuous at the capture of the Bastille, had taken a 
drum and headed the women in their march. Fol- 
lowed by this singular array, he had gone down the 
quay, passed through the Louvre, the Tuileries, the 
Champs Elysees, the Cours la Reine, and set out for 
Versailles. A crowd of idlers, beggars, and thieves 
followed the band, singing, and shouting jests and 
appeals for vengeance. They stopped at every wine- 
shop, and called out to the passers-by and to people 
at the windows ; they were brandishing old muskets 
and broken swords, dull hatchets, pikes, and rusty 
daggers. 

The weather was very bad; the half-drunken 
women could hardly walk through the wind. " Aus- 
trian," said one of the furies, speaking about Marie 
Antoinette, " you have danced for your own pleasure ; 
you shall dance for ours. I want your skin to make 
ribbons of, your blood in my inkstand, my apron for 
your entrails ! " and ferocious jests and insults fell 
in a perfect shower. Madame Elisabeth, who was at 
her house in Montreuil, saw from the terrace in her 
garden, the band marching up the Avenue de Paris. 
She went at once to the palace of Versailles, and ad- 
vised her brother to repress the disorder at once. At 
about half-past three the regiment from Flanders was 
drawn up in line on the Place d'Armes, to the left of 
the palace. The body-guard, to the number of about 



250 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

three liUDclred, was placed before the entrance to the 
Minister's apartments. A detachment of dragoons 
was posted in the Avenue de Paris. These were all 
the forces which the King could dispose of for his 
defence. Indecision prevailed among the ministers 
who were in session ; M. de Saint Priest wanted the 
bridge of Sevres defended, and urged that Louis 
XVI. go, at the head of his loyal troops, to drive back, 
at the crossing of the Seine, the body of Parisians of 
whom, doubtless, the horde of women was the van- 
guard. But Necker opposed all resistance ; he said 
that if the sword were drawn against the insurrec- 
tion, it would be the signal for civil war; he pre- 
ferred treating with the revolt, as from one power to 
another. 

Meanwhile the women had got into the Avenue 
de Paris, singing, " Long live Henri IV. ! " and shout- 
ing as if in derision, " Long live the King ! " When 
they reached the Menus Plaisirs, where the National 
Assembly was sitting, they stopped. At first fifteen 
of them entered the meeting and were conducted to 
the bar. Maillard spoke in their name, saying that 
Paris was without bread, and that some means must 
be devised for finding a supply. Then the rest of 
the women crowded into the hall. The galleries, the 
bar, the deputies' seats, were filled with a noisy, loud- 
talking multitude, who interrupted the members, 
insulting those of the right, and fraternizing with 
those of the left. 

The Prince of Luxembourg, a captain of the body- 



THE FIFTH OF OCTOBER. 251 

guard, asked Louis XVI. if he had any orders to 
give abou.t repelling the onslaught. " What, sir," 
answered the good-natured monarch, "orders to fight 
Avomen ! You are jesting ! " The body-guard, which 
was drawn up ready for action, was forbidden to lay 
a hand on sabre or pistol. Commands were given 
to avoid anything that might provoke the populace. 
The rioters, who kept coming in large numbers, felt 
confidence in their security. They went up to the 
gates of the palace, in a rage at finding them closed, 
and threw stones at the body-guard, who had no 
cartridges and had been ordered not to defend them- 
selves. At the same time women surrounded the 
regiment from Flanders and tried to corrupt the 
men. One of them, Theroigne de Mericourt, who 
wore a red cloak, went through the ranks, flattering 
the soldiers and distributing money. 

Soon afterwards, Mounier left the National Assem- 
bly, followed by a deputation of the women of Paris, 
whom he led to the palace. The rain was falling in 
torrents. The Avenue de Paris was filled with a 
threatening crowd. The rioters in vain tried to force 
the gates. Only Mounier and the deputation of 
women were admitted. 

The King, who was at the council with his Minis- 
ters, went to his bedroom to receive these strange 
visitors. Only five women were admitted. A young 
girl of seventeen, named Louise Chabry, spoke for 
them. "You ought to know my heart," answered 
the King ; " I shall give orders to collect all the bread 



252 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



that can be found." Louise Chabry was so much 
moved by the King's kindness that she fainted. 
Louis XVI. made her drink some wine and held salts 
to her nose. She recovered consciousness, and the 
King kissed her. The delegates were delighted with 
the reception accorded them, and went down the 
marble staircase, shouting, " Long live the King ! " 
and when they saw the other women outside the grat- 
ing, they said, " We have got what we wanted ; we 
are going back to Paris." These wise- words did not 
please the crowd. Cries arose : " They have sold out 
to the court ! They have received twenty-five louis 
apiece ! To the lantern with them ! " They sprang 
upon the unhappy women, struck them, and tried to 
hang them. They escaped with difficulty. The dis- 
order increased with every moment. The general 
alarm, which was beaten in every street, called 
together the National Guard of Versailles in the 
Place d'Armes; but many of its members, intimi- 
dated by the hostility manifested by certain compa- 
nies against the body-guard, withdrew. 

In the palace, every one was overwhelmed with 
anxiety. There could be heard the vile abuse poured 
forth on Marie Antoinette by the frantic crowd. Or- 
ders were given to prepare for the departure of the 
Queen and the Dauphin. The King's carriages left 
the stables and drove to the door of the Orange house, 
while the Queen's, starting from the rue de la Pompe 
at the same time, reached the Dragon's gate. Here 
a hostile band of the National Guard compelled the 



THE FIFTH OF OCTOBFR. 253 

coachmen to go back to the stables. Moreover, Marie 
Antoinette had not been informed of her proposed 
departure ; and on no consideration would she have 
left the King. Her energetic and haughty nature 
would have repelled every plan that savored of 
timidity. 

Night was coming on, and the rain continued to 
fall, exciting hope in the palace that the bad weather 
would allay the excitement and disperse the rioters. 
At about eight o'clock in the evening all the troops 
drawn up in the Place d'Armes received orders to 
withdraw. The regiment from Flanders left the 
place, and marched to the courtyard of the Great 
Stables. The body-guard then proceeded to their 
quarters, followed by the jeers of the multitude. In 
the night they left for Trianon, then for Rambouillet. 
There remained at Versailles only the sentinels on 
duty, who were to j)lay so tragic a part in the events 
of the following day. 

The town presented a most gloomy and alarming 
appearance. All the shops, except those of the bakers 
and a few wine-sellers, were closed. The night was 
very dark. The inhabitants scarcely dared to set 
foot out of doors. Ragged men, armed with staves 
and pikes, knocked at every door, demanding food 
and drink. The women from Paris continued to fill 
; the National Assembly, which looked like a theatre 
on a day of free admission. They sent out for bread, 
wine, and meat, and ate and slept on the benches of 
the deputies. A certain number of the representa- 



254 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

tives remained in the hall ; and in Mouniei's ab- 
sence, the President's chair was taken by the Bishop 
of Langres, who, in spite of his ecclesiastical dignity, 
had to submit to being kissed by a number of women 
more or less drunk. Suddenly, towards midnight, a 
great piece of news spread: the National Guard of 
Paris and its commander. La Fayette, had just arrived 
in Versailles. 

Ever since morning La Fayette had been the prey 
of the keenest anguish. At daybreak a number of 
battalions had surrounded the H6tel de Ville, and 
instead of trying to quell the outbreak, had been 
themselves shouting all day long, " To Versailles, to 
Versailles ! " La Fayette hesitated. Should he obey 
the demands of his mutinous soldiers, or should he, 
as it were, sanctify the rebellion by his presence? 
Should he, by resistance, compromise the popularity 
which he had acquired by so many sacrifices ? " It is 
singular," exclaimed one of the National Guard, "that 
M. de La Fayette should think of commanding the 
people, when in fact it is the people who command 
him." Cries for blood and accusations of treachery 
began to be heard. 

The Commune at last gave the National Guard 
orders to start. It was six in the morning. La Fay- 
ette was on horseback, his head bowed, his heart full 
of gloomy forebodings, and after a few moments' hesi- 
tation he made up his mind, and as if urged by a power 
he could not resist, he shouted, '' Forward, march ! " 

The lot was thrown. Twenty thousand men 



THE FIFTH OF OCTOBER. 255 

marched forth. The vanguard consisted of three 
companies of grenadiers, a battalion of fusiliers, and 
three cannon. Seven or eight hundred men, bare- 
armed, and hoarse with drink, followed, carrying 
staves or pikes. Then came La Fayette, the servant 
rather than the commander of his troops. An aide 
galloped ahead to announce to the King the advance 
of the National Guard; he reached Versailles at 
about ten in the evening, and found the whole court 
in alarm. The Queen alone was undaunted ; during 
the evening she had been receiving a number of peo- 
ple and had talked with energy and dignity, giving 
strength to others by her calm and courage. 

Towards midnight the National Guard of Paris 
reached the gates of Versailles. Before entering the 
town. La Fayette stopped a moment and administered 
to his troops the oath of loyalty to the nation, the 
laws, and the King. Then he entered the Avenue 
de Paris, in which was the hall where the National 
Assembly met, and assured the President of the 
pacific intentions of his troops. Then leaving the 
Assembly, he -betook himself to the palace, which 
he entered with only two members of the municipal 
government of Paris. The rooms were crowded ; a 
voice shouted, " There's Cromwell I " 

" Sir," answered La Fayette, " Cromwell would not 
have c^ome alone." 

The court was in doubt whether the man who 
came in this way was a liberator or a tyrant, whether 
he came to save or to overthrow the King. La Fay- 



256 MARIJE ANTOINETTE. 

ette advanced in an attitude of grief and respect. 
He bowed low before Louis XVI., and said, " Sire, I 
have come to bring j^ou my head to save Your Majes- 
ty's." And he added that he felt confident of the 
sentiments of the National Guard. Louis XVL, who 
was hopeful by nature, believed La Fayette, who, 
for his part, meant what he said. It was agreed that 
the interior of the palace should be left in charge of 
the sentinels on duty, and that the National Guard 
should take charge of the outside. La Fayette went 
out to see about carrying out this order. Then he 
returned to the Assembly which, in a night session, 
was discussing a proposed penal law. He said that 
he would be responsible for everything, and that 
order would be maintained. 

President Mounier, satisfied with this optimistic 
utterance, adjourned the session at three in the 
morning, and La Fayette went back to the palace, 
where he heard that the King had gone to bed, and 
that all was quiet. Then he mounted his horse and 
rode through the town, which was perfectly calm. 
He then went back to the palace and stayed there, in 
the rooms of M. Montmorin, until six the next morn- 
ing, when, utterly exhausted, after being on horse- 
back for seventeen hours, repose was necessary. 
After a last look at the town he went, to the house 
belonging to his wife's family, in the rue de la 
Pompe, and lay down on a bed. His sleep, which 
lasted only a few moments, has been the subject of 
severe condemnation from historians. 



XXVII. 

THE SIXTH OF OCTOBER. 



VERSAILLES was at last finding rest : the 
mjal family in the palace ; La Fayette in the 
Noailles mansion ; the National Guard of Paris, wet 
through with the rain, and worn out by a march to 
which it was not accustomed, in the churches, the 
quarters of the body-guard, and in private houses ; 
the women and the men, with pikes, on the benches 
of the National Assembly, in the barracks of the 
French Guards, and the wine-shops. Those of the 
populace who had no refuge had lit a large fire in 
the Place d'Armes, and after cutting up and roasting 
a wounded horse, had quietly fallen asleep in this 
improvised bivouac. 

Marie Antoinette, worn out by the emotions of 
this painful day, had gone to bed at two in the morn-* 
ing. Before she went to sleep, she had told the two 
ladies of her bedchamber, Madame Auguie and 
Madame Thibaut, to go to their beds, thinking that 
for this night, at least, there was nothing to fear. She 
owed her life the next day to the devotion Avhich pre- 
vented these two ladies from obeying this command. 

All the lights were out, and Marie Antoinette was 

257 



258 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

sound asleep. The sleep which precedes a battle or 
a riot is an imposing thing, in the contrast that exists 
between its calm and the excitement and danger of 
the next day ; for many it is the last sleep of their 
lives, a prelude to the sleep of death, and there is 
something most impressive in its mysteriousness. It 
is like a heaven-sent truce. 

Not every one in Versailles enjoyed this truce in 
the night between the 5th and 6th of October. Every- 
thing was at rest, except crime. The revolt had not 
yet completed its task ; and these demons, these dis- 
guised brigands, who were shouting for bread when 
their pockets were full of gold, had not yet earned 
their pay. No, there was no sleep — for hate knows 
no fatigue — for the furies who had sworn to cut off 
Marie Antoinette's neck on a milestone, and to dip 
their hands in her blood. At the Assembly, one wild- 
eyed woman had asked, with threatening gestures, 
brandishing a dagger, if the Austrian woman's apart- 
ments were well guarded. 

That evening the men with pikes had made a great 
tumult in the Place d'Armes, shouting to the respect- 
able people who tried to quiet them, " Go to bed ; as 
for us, we haven't finished our work." They were 
waiting for daylight. 

Let us, in company with M. Le Roi, a learned 
guide, a real student, examine the scene of the events 
which were about to take place. ^ Let us first look at 

1 History of Versailles : its Streets, Squares and Avenues from 
the Origin of the City to the Present Time. 



I 



THE SIXTH OF OCTOBER. 259 

the palace, as well as at all the gratings of the en- 
trances which had been closed on the 5th of October, 
and had kept out the populace, but, the next day, 
was to give free passage to the rioters. 

At the present day we can pass through the wide 
gateway opening on the Place d'Armes, and enter at 
once the huge courtyard which extends to the palace. 

In the reign of Louis XYI. there was, in addition, 
a second grating between the two wings of the palace, 
just about where now stands the equestrian statue of 
Louis XIV. 

The space between the two gratings was called the 
Ministers' Courtyard, from the buildings on each side 
in which the ministers lodged. 

Then, as now, there was an iron gate opening on 
the rue des Reservoirs, and another opening on the 
rue de la Surintendance (now the rue de la Bib- 
lioth^que). 

Beyond the courtyard of the Ministers was the 
Royal Courtyard, extending to the narrow space be- 
tween the old buildings of the palace of Louis XIIL, 
then, as now, called the Marble Courtyard, from the 
pavement. 

Let us first notice the insufficiency of La Fayette's 
defensive measures, and the absence of any excuse 
for his fatal confidence. During the whole of the 
5th, the gateway of the Ministers' Courtyard was the 
point attacked by the populace, furious at finding 
this barrier. Well ! Who guarded this gate which 
was of such importance for the defence of the pal- 



260 IfARIE ANTOINETTE. 

ace ? Two soldiers of the National Guard ! Who 
protected the entrance of the marble staircase lead- 
ing to the royal apartments ? Two Swiss soldiers ! 
Why was it that the royal battalions of the National 
Guard, which certainly contained trusty men, were 
not ordered to defend the approaches to the palace ? 

Why was it that their commander, instead of going 
to rest in the rue cle la Pompe, did not stay in the 
palace, near his King, at the post of duty and of 
honor ? Without doubt. La Fayette was no traitor ; 
but, like men of his political complexion, he was 
absurdly optimistic, and he did not dread the danger 
which lay before his eyes. He lay down in good 
faith, and when he awoke from his short sleep, he 
was overcome with surprise at events which any one 
else would have foreseen. 

At half-past five in the morning, a great number of 
women suddenly made their appearance in the Place 
d'Armes. Many of them went up to the first gate- 
way, that leading to the Ministers' Courtyard, and 
the two National Guards who were stationed there 
opened the gate. The men, armed with pikes, at 
once followed, and the courtyard was filled. The 
crowd saw that the gate of the Princes' Courtyard 
(the one leading to the middle of the palace, where 
dwelt the princes of the blood) was open, and the 
populace hastened thither, and entered the park by a 
door at the foot of the princes' staircase. At that 
moment, Marie Antoinette ,was awakened by the 
noise beneath her windows. She rang for Madame 



THE SIXTH OF OCTOBER. 261 

Tliibaut, and asked the meaning of this tumult. Mad- 
ame Thibaut replied that it was the women from Paris, 
who, probably, not being able to find any quarters, 
were walking on the terrace. Then she withdrew; 
and the Queen, satisfied, remained in bed. 

The Royal Court was still secure. The mayor of the 
body-guard, M. d'Aguesseau, had just placed many 
guards in the passage of the colonnade leading from 
the Princes' Courtyard to the Royal Courtyard ; but 
those soldiers were too few to make any resistance, 
and the wave of rioters drove them back ; the Royal 
Courtyard was invaded; one of the body-guard, a 
man named Deshuttes, was disarmed in front of the 
gateway, struck down, and dragged, dying, to the end 
of the Ministers' Courtyard. A ragpicker named Jour- 
dan placed his foot on his chest, and cut off his head 
with an axe. This head was stuck on the point of a 
pike, and paraded through the streets as a trophy of the 
insurrection, and the victim's body was carried to the 
barracks of the French Guard, and thrown on the straw. 

At the same time, the crowd made a violent at- 
tack on the marble staircase, which is near the Mar- 
ble Courtyard, and led to the apartments of the King 
and Queen. At the top, facing the staircase, was the 
great hall of the Guards. To the left, a landing led 
to the hall of the King's Guards ; then came the 
King's ante-chamber, then the hall of the CEil de 
Boeuf, then the bedroom of Louis XIV., the Minis- 
ters' Council Hall ; and finally, at the right of this 
hall, the bedroom of Louis XVI. 



262 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

On the right of the marble staircase was a door 
leading to Marie Antoinette's apartments : first, is 
the hall of the Guards ; the first ante-chamber, called 
also the drawing-room of the Grand Convert ; the sec- 
ond ante-chamber, called the Queen's drawing-room ; 
then her bedroom. 

The marble staircase was defended by only two 
men of the Hundred Swiss Guards. The crowd 
mounted the staircase, - and one of the body-guard, 
M. Miomandi-e de Sainte-Marie, went down three or 
four steps, saying, " My friends, you love your King, 
and you come to disturb him in his palace." The 
rioters sprang on this loyal servant, and nearly killed 
him. Then the body-guards, seeing that they could 
not withstand the onslaught, took refuge, some in the 
great hall of the Guards, the others in the hall of 
the King's Guards. At the same moment the door 
between the marble staircase and the hall of the 
Queen's Guards was burst open, and the rioters 
rushed in, calling for the death of Marie Antoinette. 
One of the guards on duty as sentinel before the 
door of the first ante-chamber, M. de Yaricourt, was 
struck from behind, and fell bleeding; the crowd 
seized him, hustled him down the staircase, and 
dragged him through the Princes' Gate into the 
Ministers' Courtyard. He was still living, and strug- 
gling with his assassins, when Jourdan, the ragpicker, 
ran up, and with his axe, still dripping with the blood 
of M. Deshuttes, cut off his head. 

Another one of the guard, M. du Repaire, took M. 



Tn:E SIXTH OF OCTOBER. 263 

de Varicourt's place at the entrance of the first ante- 
chamber. They rushed upon him; but after a long 
struggle, he managed to reach the hall of the King's 
Guards, covered with wounds; just as the door 
closed behind him, a pistol-shot laid low one of the 
assailants. M. Miomandre de Sainte-Marie, who had 
sought refuge in the embrasure of one of the windows 
of the great hall of the Guards, hastened to take M. 
de Varicourt's place in the hall of the Queen's Guards, 
at the door of the first ante-chamber. He opened the 
door quickly and saw Madame Thibaut; to her he 
said, "Save the Queen; they want to kill her." 
Then he closed the door, and the two ladies of the 
bedchamber, Madame Thibaut and Madame Auguie, 
who were in the Queen's drawing-room, bolted it. 
Then the wretches attacked M. Miomandre de Sainte- 
Marie. One of them felled him, bleeding, to the 
ground with the butt-end of a musket. They 
thought he was killed, and stole his watch; then 
they hastened to the great hall to seize the weapons 
of the body-guard. M. de Sainte-Marie came to him- 
self and saw that he was alone ; he dragged himself 
to the landing and made his way to his companions 
in the hall of the King's Guards. 

Meanwhile Madame Thibaut had made the Queen 
get up and hurried her into her stockings and petti- 
coat, and thrown a cloak over her shoulders. At the 
end of the bedroom, near the bed, was a secret door, 
opening on a dark passage-way, which led to the hall 
of the OEil de Boeuf. At the entrance of this passage- 



2G4 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

way was a little staircase leading to a passage known 
as the King's passage-way, which, communicated with 
the King's bedroom, enabling him thus to go to the 
Queen's room unobserved. Marie iVntoinette, accom- 
panied by the two ladies of her bedchamber, passed 
out through the door at the foot of her bed, made her 
way to the passage leading to the (Eil de Bceuf, and 
knocked at the door there, which was opened by the 
footmen of Louis XVI., and entered the King's apart- 
ment. 

At the same time Louis XVI., full of anxiety for 
his wife and children, had wanted to go to the Queen. 
He had taken the other passage-way, and reached her 
room just as she had left it. The guards told him, 
and he returned the same way to his own chamber, 
where he found th§ Queen and the Dauphin, who had 
just been brought by Madame de Tourzel, the govern- 
ess of the royal children. 

Meanwhile the National Guard began to enter the 
palace ; the first to arrive was a detachment that had 
passed the night in the Church of the Franciscans ; it 
ascended the staircase and rescued the members of 
the body-guard who had sought refuge in the hall 
of the GEil de Boeuf. 

After a few moments' sleep, of which it will be 
said that "he slept just long enough to ruin the 
King," La Fayette woke up in the Noailles mansion. 
He did not wait for a horse to be brought, but started 
at once for the palace on foot, and proceeded to en- 
courage his men to quell the disorder. Louis XVI 



J 






THE SIXTH OF OCTOBER. 265 

himself thanked the members of the National Guard 
who had saved the lives of his body-guard; then, 
always calm and self-controlled, he called the minis- 
ters together in the Council Hall. The Queen, the 
Dauphin, Madame Royale, Madame Elisabeth, the 
Count of Provence, the aunts, were all collected in 
the King's bedroom. The Dauphin said to his mother, 
" Mamma, I'm hungry." " Be patient," answered 
Marie Antoinette ; " this will soon be over." 

The palace courtyards were filled with battalions 
of the National Guard and with the populace. Marie 
Antoinette stood, perfectly calm, at a window, looking 
out on the vast throng. While every one about her 
was giving way to tears or despair, she did not lose 
her head for a moment, but consoled and encouraged 
every one. 

Louis XVI. went out on the balcony, with the 
same air of confidence and kindness that he always 
wore. Cries of " The Queen, the Queen ! " were 
heard. La Fayette advised Marie Antoinette to show 
herself ; he said it was the only way to allay the ex- 
citement. " Very well," answered the Queen, " if I 
have to go to my execution, I shall not hesitate ; I 
will go." What was to take place ? What was to be 
expected of these men, drunk, and wild with wrath, 
» uttering angry cries and carrying loaded muskets ? 
Would the assassins of the body-guard hesitate at 
the murder of a woman, a queen? It was a solemn 
moment. Marie Antoinette, pale, with dishevelled 
hair, appeared at the balcony of the King's room, 



266 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

accompanied by La Fayette, and holding the Dauphin 
with one hand, her daughter with the other. The 
cries redoubled ; shouts of " No children ! No chil- 
dren ! The Queen alone ! " arose from all sides. 
What did this uproar mean ? Did the demons who 
filled the place fear that the sight of the children 
would touch their hearts ? Did the murderers who 
would gladly have slain the mother hesitate about 
killing a boy and a girl ? Without thinking about 
the probable evil significance of these shouts, Marie 
Antoinette gave the Dauphin and his sister to their 
father ; then she came out alone, fearless, heroic, and 
calmly letting her eyes run over the multitude, folded 
her arms. 

It was the daughter of the Csesars who appeared. 
The noble haughtiness of her brow, the dignity of her 
bearing, wrung from the crowd a shout of admiration 
and surprise. Even those who, a moment before, 
wanted to kill her, joined in the cry. A loud roar of 
" Long live the Queen ! " burst forth. Marie Antoi- 
nette was not the dupe of this greeting ; she heard 
the crowd shouting another alarming cry : " To Paris 
with the King ! " and, leaving the balcony, she went 
up to Madame Necker, and said sadly, " They are 
going to make the King and me go to Paris, with the 
heads of our guards carried before us on the ends of 
their pikes." 

Louis XVI., always weakly good-natured, decided 
to obey this insolent demand of the populace. All 
that he asked was that he should not be separated 



THE SIXTH OF OCTOBER. 267 

from his wife and children. La Fayette went out on 
the balcon}^ with one of the body-guard, and made 
him take an oath of fidelity to the nation and show 
the side of his hat on which was fastened the tricolor 
cockade. The other guards followed this example. 
The grenadiers of the National Guard put their hats 
on the end of their bayonets, and every one shouted, 
" Long live the body-guard! " 

At the same time letters were thrown from the 
palace windows, announcing that the King was going 
to leave for Paris, and the National Guard gave 
expression to its delight by firing many rounds of 
musketry. When the Assembly heard the news, it 
passed a vote, on the motion of Mirabeau, that it 
could not be separated from the King. Louis XVL, 
when the vote was communicated to him, said : "It 
is with sincere emotion that I receive this new proof 
of the attachment of the Assembly. The wish of my 
heart, as you know, is never to be separated from 
you. I am going to Paris with the Queen and my 
children. I shall give all necessary orders for the 
continuation of the Assembly's work." 

The preparations for the departure of the royal 
family were speedily completed. The King, the 
Queen, Madame Elisabeth, the Dauphin, the King's 
brother, Madame Roy ale, and Madame Tourzel, all 
got into the same carriage. It was one o'clock in the 
afternoon. 

Such are vicissitudes of fate I It was there on the 
balcony of the great King's chamber, that absolute 



268 MATtlE ANTOINETTE. 

monarchy expired, that divine right of which he 
was the proudest representative 1 Such the muta- 
bility of life 1 It is this Place d'Armes, where used 
to be deployed the military splendor and the royal 
pomp, that had become the scene of the last humil- 
iations of royalty! The proud river was ending in 
sand. 

It was all over ; Louis XYI. and Marie Antoinette 
were departing, never to return. Farewell, Versailles ! 
Farewell to the magnificent palace with its bright gal- 
leries and solemn chapel 1 Farewell to the park, to 
its statues, to its mighty trees ! The King and the 
Queen were vanquished, and never was the Revolu- 
tion to let them see again their former palace. All 
that was to be allowed them was to see its towers in 
the distance, as if it were an Eden from which they 
had been driven, not by angels, but by devils. 

The procession started. The van consisted of the 
men and women who had left Paris the evening be- 
fore. The women wore the tricolor cockades in their 
caps; the men waved in triumph the arms they had 
captured from the body-guard. A great many of 
the rioters were in cabs ; others in carts, or riding on 
the cannon. Then followed sixty wagons filled with 
flour taken from the market in Versailles. Women, 
carrying branches, shouted out, "We are bringing the 
baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's little boy." 

After the wagons came the battalions of the 
National Guard, surrounded by the populace ; then 
the body-guard, disarmed, humiliated, with torn uni- 



THE SIXTH OF OCTOBER. 269 

forms, like captives in ancient triumphs, tokens of 
the victory of the insurrection ; then the large 
carriage containing the royal family : La Fayette and 
M. d'Estaing, the commander of the National Guard 
of Versailles, rode, one on each side of the carriage. 
A noisy crowd clung close to the carriage. There 
were but few cries of " Long live the King ! " 
Everywhere rose shouts of " Long live the Nation ! 
Down with the black caps ! To the lantern with the 
bishops ! " As if in mockery, a magnificent sun shone 
on this funeral procession of royalty. The weather, 
Avhich had been abominable the day before, was 
delightful on that day. While authority, discipline, 
honor, everything that makes a nation's power and 
glory, had been insulted in the person of the son of 
Saint Louis, of Henri IV., of Louis XIV., the autumn 
was glowing with its last splendor, the birds were 
singing in the woods of Viroflay. The majesty of 
nature seemed to protest by its calm against human 
agitation and folly. 

After a journey of seven hours, the royal family 
was to sleep that night in Paris, in its palace, or 
rather in its prison. The drama of Versailles was 
over ; the drama of the Tuileries was beginning. 



EPILOGUE. 

VEESAILLES SINCE 1789. 

AT Versailles, the morning of October 6, 1789, 
everything was noise, tumult, and excitement; 
that eyening all was peace and silence. The town, 
wearied by what it had gone through, was sadly rest- 
ing. The palace was deserted. A few enthusiastic 
demagogues only seemed happy. The vast majority 
of the inhabitants foresaw the future, and understood 
that the departure of the King meant the ruin of 
Versailles. This town, once so brilliant, sank into 
gloom, and its population diminished ; widowed of 
the court, it wore a sombre aspect. A Russian 
traveller who visited it in 1790 was struck by its 
desolation. He says that he had to wait two hours 
for a wretched meal, and that then his hostess said 
to him, " These are hard times, sir ; everybody is suf- 
fering, and you must have your share." He adds 
that in the trees of Trianon, "the birds still sing 
their love-songs ; they sing, but, alas, no longer in the 
presence of kings ! No one listens to them except a 
few foreigners who come to the park to meditate." 
The Revolution bore an especial grudge against 

270 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 271 

the former sanctuary of the monarchy. Vandalism 
was more common there than anywhere else. Octo- 
ber 20, 1792, Roland sent to the Convention a letter 
requesting permission to sell the furniture of the 
palace. The deputy Manual proposed, in addition, 
placing a sign on the palace, bearing these words : 
" This house for sale or to let." The Convention 
authorized the sale of the furniture, and referred 
the other proposition to a committee. In 1794, the 
administration of the district of Versailles " informs 
its fellow-citizens that the Little Trianon, which has 
too long been withheld from agriculture, and devoted 
to the luxury of tyrants and their lackeys, a constant 
insult to the misery of the people, is about to be re- 
stored to cultivation." The eighteen acres of the 
little park had been already chvided into ten lots, 
and it was only by the merest chance that the work 
of destruction was not completed. The park still 
exists ; but what has become of the Little Trianon 
palace, that pretty temple of which Marie Antoinette 
was the deity ? The drawing-room furniture, in blue 
silk, stuffed with eiderdown, the bed covered with 
white silk lace, the curtains fastened with pearls and 
Grenada silk, — all that was for sale for four hundred 
thousand francs at a second-hand shop in rue Neuve 
de I'Egalit^. The rooms smelt like a cellar; the 
little lake was a swamp ; the village a ruin. 

And the famous palace of Versailles, so long the 
symbol of power and glory, alas ! how it changed ! 
Versailles without courtiers was like a church with- 



272 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

out priests, or barracks without soldiers. Everything 
began to go to ruin, — the rooms, the marble statues, 
the bronze groups. A few beggars, former servants 
of the best of masters, pursued the visitors in hope of 
alms. As Yolney said in his Ruins : " A busy croAvd 
once thronged these now deserted paths ; within these 
walls, where all is silence, sounded the hum of work, 
and sounds of joy and merrymaking. A mysterious 
Providence administers incomprehensible judgment. 
Doubtless he afflicts the earth with a secret curse, 
and in vengeance of races that are passed, he has 
smitten those of the present. Oh ! who will under- 
take to fathom the wonders of the Divine Being ? " 

It was a singular irony of fate : in 1797, the keeper 
of a coffee-house at Versailles rented the Little Tri- 
anon, and opened there a restaurant and public ball- 
room ; there the crowd played, smoked, and danced, 
indulging in ribald talk, and drinking more or less 
adulterated wine in this once most aristocratic spot, 
the former home of every luxury. In 1800, a branch 
of the H8tel des Invalides was installed in the palace 
of Versailles. Two thousand veterans were estab- 
lished in the central wing and in the apartments of 
Louis XV. and Louis XVI. Not even the chambers 
of the kings inspired respect. 

During the First Empire the palaces of Versailles 
and those of Trianon had a few hours of glory. 
January 3, 1805, the town was visited by Pius VIL, 
who came for the coronation of the man who was 
then called a second Constantine, and he desired to 



VEBSAILLES SINCE 1789. 273 

see the palace of the old monarchy. He left Paris 
in a carriage drawn by eight horses and escorted 
by men of the Imperial Guard, to make his formal 
entrance into Versailles. Amid the roar of artillery 
and the ringing of all the church bells, he went first 
to the cathedral and then to the palace. After letting 
more than five hundred people kiss his ring, in the 
grand apartments and the Gallery of the Mirrors, he 
went out on the balcony, in the middle of the gallery, 
looking out on the park. An immense multitude 
was on the terrace, impatiently waiting for the Vicar 
of Christ to appear. 

As soon as the Holy Father came out on the 
balcony, the whole crowd fell on their knees, bare- 
headed. And this same people who, less than ten 
years before, was guillotining the priests, breaking 
the sacred vessels, and had installed a prostitute on 
the high altar of Notre Dame of Paris, now knelt in 
repentance to receive the blessing of this venerable 
man who brought to France the word of peace and 
the pardon of the God of pity. With more truth 
than the Doge of Venice, the Pope might have 
answered the question, what most surprised him at 
Versailles, "It is to see myself here." It was a 
happy moment for the Church, for France, and for 
Napoleon. The Holy Father, surprised and touched, 
exclaimed with deep emotion, "Is this the French 
people who are called so irreligious ? " 

In 1805, the Emperor gave orders for the restora- 
tion of the palaces of Versailles and Trianon, which 



274 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

had reverted to the crown. February 5, a ball was 
giyen in the Hercules drawing-room. The haughty 
upstart moved as a conqueror in the palace of kings ; 
and in spite of his wonderful fortune, he, the son of 
a poor and obscure Corsican gentleman, must have 
felt surprise at being master of the Sun King's palace. 
The conqueror's court was then most brilliant, and 
the glow of victory lit up all the residences of this 
man of destiny. He sought at the Grand Trianon a 
few moments' peace in the mournful moments of his 
varied career. This was December 16, 1809, the day 
when he divorced the Empress Josephine, the loved 
companion of his happy days. He, man of action, of 
iron, as he was, this giant of battles, was not so void 
of feeling as some have supposed. He suffered all 
the sufferings of the woman he had once loved so 
dearly; and, thinking in turn of her and of Marie 
Antoinette, during the week he spent at Trianon 
after the divorce, he doubtless said more than once 
that the royal or imperial crown often turns into a 
crown of thorns, in a country torn and troubled like 
ours. 

July 10, 1811, the Emperor came again to Trianon, 
and this time in company with the Empress Marie 
Louise. August 25, on her birthday, after a perform- 
ance in the theatre of the Little Trianon, the gardens 
were illuminated as in the time of Marie Antoinette. 
The Emperor walked through them, hat in hand, with 
the Empress on his arm, and the whole court follow- 
ing them. He'went first to the Temple of Love ; then 



VEB8AILLES SINCE 1789. 275 

to the hamlet, where had been arranged a number of 
scenes of rustic life, and where a Flemish picture 
was represented in action ; and finally, to the octagon 
pavilion, where musicians performed a cantata. The 
entertainment closed with a grand ball in the gallery 
of the Great Trianon. In 1813, the Emperor resided 
there from the 7th to the 22d of March with the 
Empress Marie Louise and Queen Hortense, and it 
is there that he wrote a letter of advice and friendli- 
ness to Josephine. It is there, too, that he collected 
a library of more than two thousand volumes, con- 
sisting of the masterpieces of human intelligence. 
He remembered this library after his second abdi- 
cation ; and he asked the Chamber of Deputies for 
permission to carry these books with him into exile, 
hoping to get from them some comfort for his cruel 
griefs. The Chamber, by a unanimous vote, acceded 
to the desire of the man who, a short time before, 
had disposed of the sceptres and crowns of Europe. 
But the wish of the fallen sovereign could not be 
carried out : foreign troops had sacked and pillaged 
Napoleon's library. 

Louis XYIII. seldom visited -Versailles ; the palace 
in which he had dwelt in his youth was full of 
sad memories. The arrangement of the halls and 
room had not been changed ; and Louis XVIII. was 
able to distinguish all the rooms in the central wing 
in which he had lived .when Count of Provence. 
Charles X. also went very seldom to Versailles. In 
1830, when he was dethroned, he stopped for a 



276 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

moment at Trianon. It was the first station of his 
exile. 

Louis Philippe, who, in spite of the democratic 
origin of the royalty of July, had aristocratic tastes, 
and who would have liked nothing better than to 
be, if the Revolution had permitted, a sovereign like 
Louis XIV., took much more interest in Versailles 
than Louis XVIII. or Charles X. He obtained from 
the Chambers money enough for the restoration of 
the palace, but only on the condition of establishing 
there a liistorical museum. The Versailles of the 
Sun King was put under the protection of the Re- 
public, of the Empire, and of the Monarchy of 1830. 
That was the only way to avoid wounding the pas- 
sions and susceptibilities of the time. The glories of 
the old regime were obliged to seek protection from 
the toleration of the new. 

The creation of the Versailles Museum had been 
decreed September 1, 1833 ; it was inaugurated June 
10, 1837. A grand state dinner, at which Louis 
Philippe presided, was given in the Gallery of the 
Mirrors. At the King's table were laid six hundred 
plates. After the dinner, the royal family and all 
the guests went into the theatre ; this hall, which 
had been richly decorated, was all ablaze with light. 
Mademoiselle Mars and the principal actors of the 
Comedie Fran9aise played "Le Misanthrope." Then 
Duprez, Levasseur, and Mademoiselle Falcon sang 
selections from the third and fifth acts of "Robert 
le Diable." " The performance," we read in the 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 277 

Moniteur of June 12, 1837, "terminated with an 
interlude by M. Scribe, intended to celebrate the 
inauguration of the Museum, and to compare an 
entertainment given at Versailles by Louis XIV. 
with the wholly national festival given this day by 
the King of the French. The company was filled 
with the liveliest enthusiasm at the moment when 
the art of the decorator made the view of the old 
Versailles follow that of Versailles restored to its 
former glory, and consecrated by Louis Philippe to 
the arts that honor the country." 

After the performance, the King and the guests 
went through all the halls of the palace and the new 
gallery, the Gallery of the Battles, " where one sees 
traced on canvas," says the Moniteur^ " all the great 
exploits of French valor, from the battle of Tolbiac 
to that of Wagram." This promenade with torches 
was very impressive. Footmen in red livery went 
before the King, carrying torches. Louis Philippe 
was very proud of his triumph. 

October 17, 1837, in the chapel of Trianon, was 
celebrated the marriage of Princess Marie of Orleans 
— who made the statue of Joan of Arc — with Duke 
Alexander of Wiirtemberg. The Little Trianon was 
the summer residence of the Duke and Duchess of 
Orleans. 

Charles X., before leaving for foreign parts, rested 
a moment at Trianon, July 31, 1830. February 24, 
1848, another exile also stopped there : this exile was 
Louis Philippe. The law of revenge was applied. 



278 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

The younger branch endured the same fate as the 
elder one. In our century of revolutions, are not 
palaces like inns, in which sovereigns, like travellers, 
merely pass through; and cannot the exile of the 
day repeat to the exile of the morrow this motto of 
the cemetery : Hodie mihl^ eras tihi f 

April 22, 1849, the heir of Napoleon, who had be- 
come the President of the French Republic, held a 
review on the Place d' Armes, and before the statue 
of Louis XIV. he presented banners to the battalit)ns 
of the National Guard of Seine-et-Oise. 

February 1, 1853, a bridegroom with a woman of 
rare beauty by his side entered the palace courtyard 
at Versailles, in a tilbury which he drove himself. 
As soon as the wagon stopped, the Curator of the 
Museum was summoned by the couple, who asked 
him to show them all the portraits of Marie Antoi- 
nette there were in the palace. M. Souli^ hastened 
to comply with their desire. Before him stood the 
man who, on the previous evening, had worn the col- 
lar of the Legion of Honor which Napoleon I. had 
worn at his coronation, and the very golden fleece 
of the Emperor Charles V. ; the woman, full of grace 
and charm, in her long dress of white silk, her diadem 
and waistband of diamonds, her white veil adorned 
with orange-flowers, had drawn from the numberless 
crowd exclamations of surprise, joy, and admiration. 
Now, she was in simple walking-dress, without maid- 
of -honor, or escort of any kind. But in her mind, in 
her eyes, still lingered that vision of the previous even- 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 279 

ing, — the Elys^e, the Tuileries, the Place du Louvre, 
the rue de Rivoli, the quays, all decorated with poles, 
pennants, awnings, and inscriptions ; the women wav- 
ing their handkerchiefs and throwing bouquets ; the 
soldiers and the National Guard saluting; the dash- 
ing regiment of the Guards ; the light cavalry in their 
golden cuirasses ; the deputations of workingmen, 
with their banners in .front; the old soldiers of the 
First Empire, the veterans of Austerlitz, Jena, and 
Wagram ; the young girls in white ; then the tow-ers 
of Notre Dame upholding four eagles and two huge 
tricolored flags ; the entrance of this old cathedral, 
with its tapestries representing equestrian statues of 
Charlemagne and Napoleon, and, beneath the vaulted 
roof of the church, the banners of the eighty-six de- 
partments of France ; the fifteen thousand candles 
lighting the nave ; the liigh altar, resplendent with 
lights and flowers. All this the Empress still had in 
her eyes, and in her ears still resounded the cannon 
of the Invalides, the roll of the drums, the sound of 
trumpets and church bells, the enthusiastic applause 
of the people, the songs of the Church, the majestic 
roar of the organ. She still breathed the heavy 
perfume of the incense; she heard the echo of the 
litanies, and of the hosannas, and yet she was sad. 
In spite of this apotheosis, the glory of which still 
dazzled her, at this moment when she thought her- 
self the dupe of a dream, her mind was anxious and 
troubled; her soul was filled, not with pride, but with 
melancholy. 



280 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

Doubtless, too, she remembered that another wo- 
man, another sovereign, had, too, been exalted, flat- 
tered, half deified ; and as she thought of that woman, 
she recalled no longer the triumphal march of the 
previous evening, but those three stopping-places of 
the other, — the Temple, the Conciergerie, the Place 
Louis XV. The Emperor seemed full of confidence 
in the future : never had his faith in his star seemed 
firmer ; it manifested itself in every sentence, in 
every word of the speech he uttered before the great 
bodies of the State, in the Tuileries, January 23, 
1853, announcing that great bit of news, his marriage. 
He then said : " I have preferred a woman whom I 
love and whom I respect, to any unknown woman, 
alliance with whom would have- brought advantages 
mingled with sacrifices. Without expressing con- 
tempt for any one, I follow my inclinations, but after 
consulting my reason and my convictions. By plac- 
ing independence, the qualities of the heart, and fam- 
ily happiness above dynastic prejudices and ambitious 
calculations, I shall not be less strong, since I shall 
enjo}^ more freedom." He had also said: "The exam- 
ples of the past have left behind them in the popular 
mind a host of superstitious beliefs. It has not for- 
gotten that for sixty years no foreign princess has 
ascended the steps of the throne without seeing her 
family scattered •and proscribed by war and revo- 
lution." 

War and revolution ! The Emperor was then very 
sure that he and his wife would never be their vie- 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 281 

tims. The evening before, just when she was finish- 
ing her dressing at the Elysee, before going to the 
Tuileries and to Notre Dame, the Empress had put 
about her neck a magnificent necklace of pearls. 
Then an old Spanish servant who was there could 
not keep from crying out : " Oh, Madame ! I beg of 
you, don't put on that necklace ; I am afraid of it. 
You know what they say at home : ' The more pearls 
you wear on your wedding-day, the more tears you 
will shed the rest of your life ! ' " Nevertheless, the 
Empress kept on the necklace ; but the servant's 
words had struck her. She heard their distant echo 
like the sound of an alarm-bell, and, thinking of the 
tears shed by Marie Antoinette, she said to herself 
that possibly her eyes, too, would be swollen and 
scalded with tears. She gazed for a long time, with 
curiosity mingled with respect and emotion, at the 
five portraits of the martyred Queen, two of which 
were painted by the Swedish artist, Eoslin, and three 
by Madame Vigde-Lebrun. One of these portraits 
hangs in the Queen's chamber, just where her alcove 
was, to the left, above the little door through which 
she fled from the assassins in the morning of October 
6, 1T89. 

Another canvas, painted by the same artist, which 
hangs in the story above, represents Marie Antoi- 
nette, in 1787, surrounded by her children, the first 
Dauphin ; the Duke of Normandy, the future Louis 
XVII.; Madame Royale, the future orphan of *the 
Temple. The Empress stood long in silent revery 



282 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

before this pathetic picture, so crowded with presenti- 
ments. 

Very near that is another, before which the Em- 
peror doubtless did not stop ; but it contains a still 
gloomier omen. It represents King Jerome, seated 
by the side of his wife, the Princess Catherine of 
Wiirtemberg. The King and Queen of Westphalia 
are on the terrace of a castle which overlooks a beau- 
tiful park, and one sees in the distance a cascade like 
that of Saint Cloud. This castle Napoleon III. was 
one day to inhabit. It is his future prison, — Wil- 
helmshohe ! How fortunate it is for us all, sovereigns 
or citizens, that we do not know beforehand the fate 
that awaits us ! 

But the day of sorrow and mourning was still dis- 
tant. The Empire which was doomed to such a ter- 
rible end had still many years of strength and glory 
before it. 

August 21, 1855, Versailles was in festal array. 
At the entrance of the Avenue Saint Cloud stood a 
triumphal arch decorated with the united flags of 
France and England. On the pediment were in- 
scribed, towards the Avenue of Picardy, the names 
Victoria and Prince Albert; towards the city the 
names Napoleon and Eugenie. The Emperor and 
the Empress went to do the honors of the palace of 
Louis XIV. to the Queen of England and the Prince 
Consort. 

Towards eleven in the morning, the imperial and 
royal procession, consisting of a number of carriages 



VERSAILLES SINGE 1789. 283 

drawn by six horses, preceded and followed by an 
escort of light cavalry, entered the city, stopped for 
a few moments beneath the triumphal arch to hear 
the address of welcome of the maj^or of Versailles, 
and then continued its march to the palace, amid the 
cheers of an enthusiastic crowd. 

Four days later, August 25, the Emperor gave a 
ball in the palace to Queen Victoria. The court- 
yards and the park were illuminated. Never had the 
residence of the Sun King been more brilliant. Its 
majestic architecture shone forth in lines of fire. 
The sovereigns entered by the marble staircase ; the 
guests, by the princes' stairway. Waiting and rest- 
ing rooms, boudoirs lined with blue damask and filled 
with baskets of flowers, had been arranged for the 
Queen in the apartments of Marie Antoinette. The 
Gallery of Mirrors was most radiant. 

Thousands of lamps and chandeliers cast their 
light on the jewels and rich dresses. Every window 
showed a fairy-like sight, the park being no less bril- 
liant than the palace; the great sheet of water, 
surrounded on all sides by a series of Renaissance 
porticos, was lit by many-colored lanterns, fastened 
on trellis work as green as an emerald, and the whole 
stood out vividly against the trees of the background. 
In the middle rose a triumphal arch on the top of 
which appeared the arms of France and of England. 
On the porticos to the right and the left glittered the 
initials of the sovereigns ; the water arose in slender 
jets to fall down the cascades beneath bright arches; 



284 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

the two basins formed a glowing sheet, on which 
swam golden dolphins, carrying ciipids that bore 
Venetian garlands. At ten o'clock the doors of the 
grand apartments opened, and Their Majesties entered 
the Gallery of Mirrors — Queen Victoria on the Em- 
peror's arm ; the Empress on that of Prince Albert. 

A few moments after began the fireworks, which 
were set off at the end of the Swiss basin : the princi- 
pal piece represented Windsor Castle. Then Napo- 
leon III. opened the ball with the Queen. At eleven 
the sovereigns made their way through the grand 
apartments of Louis XIV. to the theatre, where sup- 
per was served. The table of Their Majesties had 
been placed in one of the principal boxes overlook- 
ing the orchestra and the pit, which had been trans- 
formed into a banquet hall. Never was there a more 
sumptuous festival. The Emperor was then young, 
triumphant, and full of confidence in himself and his 
destiny, had no suspicion of the catastrophes hid in 
the gloomy future, or of the very different festival 
which was to be celebrated fifteen years later in this 
same Gallery of the Mirrors, when, at the end of the 
Crimean War, Imperial France rivalled in splendor 
the France of the Great King. 

January 8, 1871, an altar covered with a red cloth 
was raised in this gallery, opposite the windows look- 
ing out upon the park. On this red cloth was the 
figure of the Iron Cross of Prussia. Around the 
altar stood officers holding flags. At one in the 
afternoon. King William, surrounded by representa- 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 285 

tives of all the reigning families of Germany, by the 
members of his family, his generals, and his minis- 
ters, entered and took his place before the altar. On 
his left was noticed Bismarck, who had just been 
appointed division-commander. A choir of soldiers 
sang a psalm. The new German Empire was about to 
be established. After the psalm, the King placed upon 
the flag the charter of the Empire and bade the Chan- 
cellor to read the proclamation to the German peo- 
ple. The new Csesar announced that, in accordance 
with the demand of the Princes and the Fred Cities, 
he felt it his duty to restore the Imperial crown and 
to assume it himself. As soon as the reading of the 
proclamation was over, the Grand Duke of Baden 
shouted, " Long live the Emperor of Germany ! " 
The whole assembled company repeated this cry 
three times ; then the bands played the Prussian 
national hymn. The gray light of a winter day lit 
up this military and feudal ceremony which brought 
back memories of the old knights in armor. 

Thus, by one of the contrasts with which history 
is filled, — for history is richer in surprises than any 
play, — it is here, in this famous Gallery of the 
Mirrors, still full of the pomp and splendor of Louis 
XIV., whose armies had so proudly crossed the 
Rhine ; here, in this imposing hall, where Lebrun's 
frescoes represent so many scenes of triumph, that 
it was given to the Germans to restore the Empire 
which the French had taken so many ages to over- 
throw. If the dead retain any interest in human 



286 MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

affairs, what must tlie^ Great King have thought of 
the rites just celebrated in his palace ? 

And the victor himself, what must have been his 
reflections on the vicissitudes of fate? Even amid 
all their glory and the intoxication of success, the 
haughtiest conquerors cannot escape serious thoughts : 
a secret voice, like that of the slave who kept close 
to the triumphal chariot in antiquity, whispers into 
their ears that earthly joys are brief, that the future 
is uncertain. 

Who knows? Despite his prodigious triumphs, 
the conqueror of Sedan, the all-powerful Emperor 
William himself had, possibly, his moments of sad- 
ness. Possibly he thought more than once, amid all 
the applause and the blare of trumpets, of that army 
of which the Abb^ Perreyve has spoken, " that army 
unseen by the corporal eyes, but too clearly visible 
to the mind's eye, which begins its bloody march 
. . . the great army of the dead, the army of the 
slain, the abandoned, the forgotten, the army of cruel 
tortures and prolonged infirmities, which pursues its 
fatal march behind what we call glory ! " Yes, pos- 
sibly the conqueror recalled, not without a pang, the 
time when Germany and France, like two allies, like 
two friends, took part together in the festivals of 
peace, in the great ceremonies of modern civilization. 
Possibly he remembered the time of the Universal 
Exhibition, when he offered rich bouquets to the 
Empress Eugenie, when the hospitality of the Tui- 
leries was sumptuous and cordial, when the peoples 



VEBSAILLES SINCE 1789. 287 

fraternized like their sovereigns, and Germans and 
French, gathered about the same tables, drank Bava- 
rian beer together in the galleries of the joyous 
palace of the Champ de Mars, while the magic bow of 
Strauss of Vienna directed the fascinating waltzes, — 
"The Blue Danube," "Morning Flowers." How 
many fine and fearless young men, then in the flower 
and force of their youth, were now sleeping beneath 
the sods of the battle-field! And how many were 
wounded and maimed! How many families in 
mourning, how many mothers in tears ! What a sad 
conflict was this terrible war between two great 
nations that stood at the head of contemporary civil- 
ization, between two intelligent and brave peoples, 
who were born to understand and to respect one 
another ! And what a price did the unhappy coun- 
tries, which would have been so prosperous in peace 
and friendly rivalry, pay for the wars of their em- 
perors and kings ! 

The day after the proclamation of the Empire 
of Germany at Versailles, the cannon of Buzenval 
announced the death agony of Paris. The bom- 
bardment of the great capital went on without in- 
terruption, and the palace of Saint Cloud began to 
burn, like a sacrificial pile. The applause which had 
greeted the new-made Emperor in the Gallery of the 
Mirrors still continued, when its aspect had swiftly 
changed. The hall of Triumph became a hospital ; 
thither were taken the Germans wounded at Buzenval. 
The apartments of the Dauphin, of the Queen, the 



^88 MARIE Antoinette. 

grand apartments of Louis XIV., were also filled with 
dying men. The attendants slept in the hall of the 
Queen's Guards. 

The hall of the Grand Convert — the hall where, 
in the time of the old monarchy, were given the most 
magnificent royal banquets, was turned into an apoth- 
ecary's shop. Cries of pain, long sighs, the death 
rattle of the mortally hurt, were heard in this splen- 
did gallery, which had so often echoed, in a blaze of 
lights and flowers, to the joyous music of the ball- 
room. The wounded, as they lay on their beds of 
pain, could see above their heads Lebrun's heroic 
paintings, and possibly to some of them there oc- 
curred bitter thoughts about glory; for glory has 
but a pallid glow to dying men. 

Yet the German wounded could at least say that 
elsewhere, at that moment, there were other wounded 
and dying men, who were much more deserving of 
pity. They had the consolation of victory ; but the 
beaten who were wounded, whose pains and sacrifices 
had been unavailing, who asked, " To what good 
these heaped-up ruins, these burned huts, so much 
bloodshed, such devotion, courage, suffering, so many 
heroic deaths ? " Those who died for a country humili- 
ated, defeated, despoiled ; those who had lost the flags 
which might have served for shrouds, what anguish 
wrung their souls, tortured like their bodies ! Alas ! 
how much they needed to press the crucifix to their 
lips in order not to die in despair. 

March 11, 1871, the Germans evacuated Versailles; 



VEBSAILLES SINCE 1789. 289 

they had entered it six months before, September 
19, 1870, with drums beating and banners waving. 
No one would guess what it was that their bands 
played as they entered the town of Louis XIV. It 
was the hymn of the Revolution, the " Marseillaise." 
Yes, by a curious turn of fate, and by a sort of irony, 
the " Marseillaise," which the French, in the deceptive 
ardor of their warlike hopes, expected to carry to the 
other side of the Rhine, was played, not in Germany, 
but at Versailles, by the bands of King William. 

The National Assembly, which had suspended its 
sittings at Bordeaux, March 11, 1871, had decided to 
resume them at Versailles on the 20th of the same 
month. They expected a period of peace. It was 
fair to hope that after so many sorrows and humilia- 
tions, France, mutilated and sorely stricken, would 
at last enjoy some rest, that its power of suffering 
was exhausted, that the Niobe of nations was to 
recover its strength in sadness. But alas ! at the 
very moment when it imagined that it had drunk 
the cup of bitterness to the dregs, and that it had 
but to set it down, it was filled anew to the brim, 
and had to be emptied again. 

After the period of fire and blood began the orgy 
of brandy and petroleum; after the Invasion, the 
Commune. Mount Valerien continued to thunder; 
but it was no longer war with the foreigner, but one 
more terrible and mournful, — civil war. The chil- 
dren of one country plunged into unholy combat ; and 
from tlie hills which engirdle the capital of capitals. 



290 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

the Germans looked down upon the French murder- 
ing one another, like gladiators in a huge amphi- 
theatre. 

During the Commune, Versailles presented the 
strangest appearance. Sometimes the Deputies who 
could find no quarters used to sleep in the Gallery 
of the Mirrors, which was transformed by turns into 
a hospital ward and a dormitory. Stains of blood 
may still be seen on the floor of this gallery. M. 
Thiers had installed himself in the house of the 
Prefect, which had been occupied a few days before 
by the Emperor William. 

From time to time, he would descend the steps to 
receive the red flags, melancholy trophies of the 
civil war, which were brought back by the victori- 
ous army. By his side was Marshal MacMahon in 
full uniform. The sound of the trumpet and the 
roll of the drums was continually heard. At certain 
points, the town looked like a seat of war ; at others, 
like a watering-place. The Place d'Armes was cov- 
ered with cannon ; and the crowd, when it saw pris- 
oners arrive, did not always display the compassion 
due to men beaten and disarmed. A little further, 
and an elegant throng filled the rue des Reservoirs. 
These fugitives, surprised at meeting one another, 
used to walk up and down, recounting their experi- 
ences, or they would sit at hotel tables, which re- 
minded one of the Conversation Hall at Baden Baden. 
The spring weather, the lovely evenings, the starlit 
nights, presented a strange contrast to the savage 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 291 

passions raging in Paris. Nature, which is better 
than man, seemed to be making a protest by its calm 
and its unalterable serenity; and the roar of the 
cannon continually firing was like peals of thunder, 
startling every one by suddenly breaking forth under 
a clear sky. 

Everybody wondered what would become of the 
hostages ; what would be the end of this lamentable 
tragedy ; what would become of the burning city ; 
would it not be consumed to the last house ? Cruel 
uncertainty ! Horrible forebodings ! Was it conceiv- 
able that such awful things should be going on close 
to Versailles? As the Journal Officiel said, in its 
number of May 25, "For centuries history has not 
known such disasters or such crimes." The ancient 
notion of the power of Fate was exceeded. And yet 
at Versailles, beside the faces full of alarm, there 
were faces almost indifferent. I have seen women 
riding under the trees, and worthy citizens in the 
park smelling the early perfumes of the flowering 
lilacs. Tragic incidents make less impression at the 
moment of their happening than they do when they 
come back as memories in the imposing remoteness 
of history. 

At the present time,^ the town of Louis XIV., who 
held everything that had to do with a parliament in 
the greatest horror, has become the very heart of par- 



1 Written, the reader is reminded, before the return of the French 
Chambers to Paris. — Tr. 



292 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 



liamentary France ; and by another singularity of our 
time, so fertile in surprises and contrasts, it is the 
Republic which has chosen this royal town for its 
capital. In a town which a few years ago was com- 
pared to a city of the dead, prevail the warmest dis- 
cussions, the most tumultuous passions. Thence are 
sent telegrams all over the world, announcing the 
agitations of meetings which arouse universal atten- 
tion. 

One moment the Legitimists hoped that in the very 
theatre where took place the famous banquet of the 
body-guards, October 1, 1789, — that festival of devo- 
tion and loyalty, — they would proclaim the re-estab- 
lishment of the old monarchy. Providence decided 
otherwise ; and now, in this hall where a Republic 
was voted by more than one monarcliist, there sits a 
Republican senate. In the other side of the castle, 
in one of the rooms in the south wing, the Chamber 
of Deputies holds its meetings. Above the Presi- 
dent's chair hangs a picture representing the opening 
of the States-General of 1789, by Conder. Another 
odd thing in a Republican chamber is to be seen, — the 
image of a monarch, and this monarch is Louis XVI. 

Sometimes persons who have come to watch the 
meetings of the Chamber from the galleries, leave 
the hall and go to meditate in other parts of the 
palace, in the apartments full of memories of the 
old monarchy. Nothing so allays the passions of 
the present as a glance at the past. History is not 
merely didactic ; it is a source of tranquillization. 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 293 

I never get tired of strolling through the royal 
apartments, which, strangely enough, were trans- 
formed, in 1871, into ministerial offices. For a year, 
my work-table was placed near Marie Antoinette's 
drawing-room, in what was called the hall of the 
Grand Convert, opposite the picture representing the 
Doge Imperiali apologizing to Louis XIV. It is 
there that I conceived for the palace of Versailles a 
real passion. Having ceased to regard the place as a 
mere curiosity, I have become deeply attached to it 
as a shrine where religion and history speak in uni- 
son, and where events call forth funeral orations 
which need no Massillon or Bossuet for their utter- 
ance. I have often returned to this historical palace, 
where the dead have voice and the stones a language 
to express the hoUowness of greatness, the disappoint- 
ments of vanity, the torments of ambition, the bitter- 
ness and emptiness of glory. Seen in its true light, 
that is to say, in the light of the Gospel, this palace, 
with its abundant lessons, seems as impressive as a 
church, and I never enter its gates without a feeling 
of reverence ! 

I shall never forget the impression I received one 
of the last times I visited it. I had just lost a sister 
who had been the gentle companion of my childhood, 
the friend of my youth, and I had loved her with all 
my heart. She died when of the same age as Marie 
Antoinette, after enduring long sufferings with won- 
derful resignation. She died like a saint, as an angel 
might die if angels were mortal. In my grief I 



294 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 

wanted to wander through this melancholy palace, 
whence a plaintive hymn seemed to issue, to remind 
me, by comparing my homely sorrow with more 
famous afflictions, that rich or poor, sovereigns or 
subjects, we are alike condemned to bear the same 
burden, to empty the same cup of bitterness. On 
entering the palace courtyard, I saw a multitude near 
the statue of Louis XIV., on their knees. Priests, 
sisters of Saint Vincent de Paul, children, were 
praying and singing. It was the procession which 
marched, its banner in front, to the three stations of the 
jubilee, — the Church of Saint Louis, the chapel of the 
palace, Notre Dame. Then I thought, " How petty 
are the kings of earth, how great the King of Heaven ! 
Where are the thrones, the crowns, the ashes of the 
sovereigns who have reigned in this palace ? Every- 
thing is destroyed, but the cross remains." The 
"isinging continued ; never did religious music sound 
to me more holy. 

It was as if a mourning country was invoking 
Divine clemency. It seemed to me that a super- 
natural band was uniting the quick and the dead, 
that near these sisters of charity there floated the 
shades of the heroines of Versailles, of those women 
who appeased the Divine wrath by innocence or 
repentance. Yes, I called up all, — the pious Queen, 
Maria Theresa ; and her who exchanged the proud 
name of Duchess of La Valli^re for the pathetic 
and gentle name of Sister Louise of Mercy ; and 
the haughty Montespan, who was made humble by 



VERSAILLES SINCE 1789. 295 

repentance ; the kind Marie Leczinska ; and Madame 
Louise of France, the austere Carmelite ; and the two 
martyrs, Marie Antoinette and Madame Elisabeth. 
I seemed to hear voices from beyond the grave join- 
ing in the litanies. 

The procession made its way into the royal chapel, 
the dome of which, at the side of the palace, is like a 
catafalque, and where there still lingered the echoes 
of a sublime voice, the voice of Massillon. Then the 
faithful entoned the Miserere^ a song as deep as the 
ocean, as great as grief ; the song of lamentation, of 
humility to God. I said to myself : " This hymn of 
penitence must rise to Heaven ! Have mercy upon 
me, O God ! according to thy loving kindness. Mis- 
erere mei^ Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam 
tuam, . . . Make me to hear joy and gladness, 
that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice : 
Auditui meo dahis gaudium et Icetitiam, et exultahunt 
ossa humiliata. . . ." And I raised my heart towards 
Him of whom Bossuet says, " To Him alone belong 
glory, majesty, and freedom ; the only one who glories 
in making laws for kings, and in giving them when 
he pleases great and terrible lessons." Ah ! I said 
to myself, the true end of a study on Versailles is 
this religious ceremony in the chapel where kings 
used to kneel. After the crime, reparation ; after 
the pomp of pride, humble repentance ; after the 
wanton favorites, the modest daughter of Saint Vin- 
cent de Paul. All France appeared to me like a pen- 
itent. No ! all these trials and sacrifices were not 



296 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

ill vain ! The tears and blood were not shed to no 
purpose! No; a people which has maintained its 
faith under adversity is not condemned to hopeless 
decay ! Material ruin, and that more terrible thing 
yet, moral ruin, may be finally repaired. Like Laz- 
arus, France will rise from her tomb ; she accepts the 
lessons of the past, to prepare for the future, and 
though He has punished her, the God of mercy does 
not cease to protect her. 



Typography by J. S. Gushing & Co., Boston. 
Presswork by Berwick & Smith, Boston. 



INDEX. 



Abbaye, the prison of, broken open, 
207. 

Angouleme, Duchess of, see Mad- 
ame Royale, 156. 

Aubertin, Charles, quoted, 202. 

Balls, the last court, at Versailles, 
2. 

Banquet of October 1 at Versailles, 
241. 

" Barber of Seville," played at the 
Little Trianon, 55 et seq. 

Bastille, capture of, 211. 

Beaumarchais, his efforts to have 
the " Marriage of Figaro " played, 
31; a forerunner of the Revolu- 
tion, 33; his letter to the Abbe 
de Calonne, 36; performance of 
his ''Barber of Seville" in the 
theatre of the Little Trianon, 
56. 

Besenval, Baron, quoted, 172, 174. 

Beugnot, Count, descrfbes Caglios- 
tro's sorceries, 74. 

Boehmer, the jeweller from whom 
the diamond necklace was pur- 
chased, 88. 

Bombelles, Marchioness of, the 
friend of Madame Elisabeth, 143. 

Bosson, Jacques, Madame Elisa- 
beth's dairyman, 147. 

Breteuil, Baron de, orders the ar- 
rest of the Cardinal de Rohan, 
100. 

Brienne, his incapacity, 173; his 
greed, 176; leaves the ministry, 
177. 

Broglie, Marshal of, put in com- 
mand of the troops, 207. 



Cagliostro, his appearance in 
France, 69; attaches himself to 
Cardinal de Rohan, 70 ; his char- 
latanries, 72; banished, 122; his 
end, 123. 

Calonne, his paper proposing to 
convoke the Notables, 168; his 
speech in the Assembly, 170. 

Campan, Madame, quoted, 24; her 
interview with Boehmer, 90, 171. 

Cazotte, M., prophecies of, 150 et 
seq. 

Chantilly, reception to the Grand 
Duke Paul at, 27 ; festivities at, 
29. 

Chateaubriand describes the pomp 
of Versailles, 3. 

Compardon, M., his book on the 
diamond necklace, 86. 

Conde, Prince of, his courtesy, 28. 

Conde, Mademoiselle de, 29. 

Court, the French, before the Revo- 
lution, 21. 

Darboy, Archbishop, his preface to 
Madame Elisabeth's letters, 157. 

Dauphin, the, " asks leave to enter," 
14 ; baptism of, 12 ; enthusiasm of 
all classes over, 15 et seq. ; illness 
of, 197 ; his death, 199. 

Diamond necklace, the affair of, 
86 et seq. 

Elisabeth, Madame, her devotion to 
Marie Antoinette, 135 ; her char- 
acter and life, 136 et seq. ; letters 
of, 142 ; her religious reflections, 
143 ; her dairy, 147 ; her impris- 
onment and execution, 152 et seq. 

297 



298 



INDEX. 



Elliott, Madame, her account of 
the Duke of Orleans, 233, 237; 
tries to induce him to join him- 
self to the King, 238. 

Enghien, Duke of, 29. 

" Figaro, the Marriage of," its per- 
formance prevented, 31; played 
at Gennevilliers, 35; and at the 
Comedie Fran9aise, 35. 

Georgel, Abbe, his zeal in the de- 
fence of the Cardinal de Kohan, 
110, 120. 

Goethe, foresees the Revolution, 
125. 

Grimm, Baron, quoted, 30, 36. 

La Fayette, Marquis of, birth and 
fortunes, 222 et seq.; serves in 
America, 224; his love of fame, 
226 ; commander of the National 
Guard, 227 ; leads the National 
Guard to Versailles, 229; reas- 
sures the King, 256; his course 
at Versailles, 256; his blind op- 
timism, 260; his sleep, 264. 

La Harpe, quoted, 37; his report 
of Gazette's prophecy, 151. 

Lameth, M. de, ingratitude of, 5. 

La Motte, Count de, 78. 

La Motte, Countess de, her birth 
'and character, 76 et seq. ; has an 
interview with the Cardinal de 
Rohan, 78 ; devises her plot 
against the Cardinal, 79 ; ar- 
ranges the mock interview be- 
tween the Queen and the Cardi- 
nal, 84; her plot to obtain the 
diamond necklace, 91; hears of 
the arrest of the Cardinal, 102; 
her defence, 113; her punish- 
ment, 123 ; her death, 125. 

Lescure, M. de, Secret Correspond- 
ence of, quoted, 5. 

Louis XVI., delight of, at the birth 
of the Dauphin, 13; his feeble 
rule, 163; his weakness and va- 
cillation with the Parliament, 



175; decides to convoke the 
States-General, 177; opens the 
States-General, 191; a philan- 
thropist and a good man, but not 
a king, 204 ; his noble optinaism, 
205 ; perceives his errors too late, 
209 ; urges Necker to leave, 209 ; 
appears humbly before the Depu- 
ties, 214; decides to return to 
Paris, 215 ; orders the princes of 
the blood to leave France, 210; 
goes to Paris, 219; repels the 
Duke of Orleans, 239 ; summoned 
to Versailles to meet the mob, 
248; shows himself to the mob, 
265 ; consents to go to Paris, 
267. 

Louis XVII. as Dauphin, baptism 
of, 132. 

Louise, Madame, death of, 145. 

Mackau, Baroness of, the friend of 
Madame Elisabeth, 141. 

Malouet, his observation on the 
King's ministers, 202, 204 ; quoted, 
209. 

Maria Theresa, her disapproval of 
private theatricals, 54; complains 
of the conduct of the Cardinal de 
Rohan, 02. 

Marie Antoinette, at the last court 
ball no one would dance with, 5 ; 
hissed at the Opera, 5 ; gives birth 
to the Dauphin, 13 et seq. ; invites 
the Baroness d'Oberkirch to her 
court, 23; her timidity, 24; en- 
tertains Gustavus III. at the Lit- 
tle Trianon, 47 ; her affability at 
her Sunday balls, 51 ; her acting 
at the theatre of Little Trianon, 
53; refuses to purchase the dia- 
mond necklace, 88; is informed 
by Madame Campan of the plot, 
94 ; acquitted of any part in the 
affair, 112 ; wounded by the ver- 
dict, 121 ; portrait of, by Madame 
Vigee-Lebrun, 128; death of her 
daughter Sophia, 129; death of 
the Dauphin, 131 ; her rural life at 



INDEX. 



299 



the Trianon, 146; begins to ap- 
prehend the impending troubles, 
160; her ascendancy over her 
husband, 172 ; forbidden to show 
herself in Paris, 174; her error 
in favoring the Third Estate, 179; 
betrayed on every side, 182 ; her 
self-possession, 194; evil omens, 
196 ; her anguish at the death of 
the Dauphin, 199; her partiality 
for La Fayette, 222 ; and for the 
Duke of Orleans, 230 et seq.; re- 
alizes the position he has taken, 
236 ; her reception at the banquet 
of October 1, 243 ; assailed by cal- 
umny, 246 ; her last visit to the 
Trianon, 246; rescued by Ma- 
dame Thibaut, 263; is taken to 
Paris by the mob, 268. 

Marie Louise, visits Versailles with 
Napoleon, 274. 

Maury, Abbe, brings news of the 
Cardinal de Rohan's arrest to 
the Countess de La Motte, 102. 

Mercy- Argenteau, Count of, wit- 
nesses incognito the acting of 
Marie Antoinette, 54. 

Michelet, quotation from, 88. 

Mirabeau, a royalist, 203; his fa- 
mous phrase, 206. 

Montreuil, the house of Madame 
Elisabeth, 139; the dairy at, 147. 

Napoleon, his remark about the 
"Marriage of Figaro," 40; re- 
stores the Versailles palaces and 
the Trianon, 273. 

National Assembly, the Third Es- 
tate announces itself the, 205. 

Necker, has no fears about the 
States-General, 9; called to the 
Ministry, 177; assembles the No- 
tables again, 179 ; deceives him- 
self, 183 ; the true King of France, 
207 ; gives up his portfolio, 209 ; 
opposes resistance to the mob, 
250. 

Necklace, the diamond, affair of, 
no longer obscure, 86. 



Noailles, Viscountess of, quoted, 7. 

Nobility, the French, worthiness of 
at the period of the Revolution, 
7 et seq. ; light-hearted and dig- 
nified to the last, 11. 

Notables, Assembly of, 169. 

Oberkirch, Baroness d', on society 
in France at the period of the 
Revolution, 10; presented to the 
Queen, 23 ; describes Cardinal do 
Rohan, 66 ; quoted, 70, 138, 150. 

Oliva, d', the, a tool of Countess 
de La Motte, 82 ; arrest of, 103 ; 
public interest in her, 110 ; con- 
fesses, 113 ; acquittal of, 119 ; re- 
ceives many proposals of mar- 
riage, 123. 

Orleans, Duke of, organizes the 
Revolution, 175 ; exiled to Villers- 
Cotterets, 176; his relations to 
the Queen, 230 et seq. ; his char- 
acter, 233; led by circumstances 
into revolt, 237; repulsed by the 
King, 239. 

Palais Royal, repute of the, 27, 46. 
Paris, outbreak of the Revolution 

in, 209. 
Parliament, the action of, 173. 
Paul, the Grand Duke, visit of, to 

Louis XVI., 22; his bon mot at 

the ball, 26 ; at Chantilly, 27. 
Pius VII. at Versailles in 1805, 

272. 
Poitrine, Madame, nurse of the 

Dauphin, 15. 
Polignac, Duchess of, 214; bidden 

by the King to depart, 216 ; leaves 

Versailles in disguise, 218. 

Raigecourt, Marchioness of, dow- 
ered by Madame Elisabeth, 141. 

Revolution, the, a light affair in 
the eyes of the nobility, 9; the 
beginning of, 160 et seq. ; insur- 
rection in Paris, 210. 

Rohan, Cardinal de, character of, 
60 ; French Ambassador at Vien- 



300 



INDEX. 



na, 62; incurs the dislike of Ma- 
rie Antoinette, 64, 67 ; appointed 
Grand Almoner of France, etc., 65 
et seq. ; his infatuation for Cagli- 
ostro, 71 ; fascinated by Madame 
de La Motte, 79; in her toils, 81 ; 
has a mock interview with the 
Queen, 84 ; is duped by the Count- 
ess de La Motte into buying the 
diamond necklace, 92; summoned 
before the King and examined, 
98; arrested, 100 ; decides to stand 
trial, 105; protests against lay 
jurisdiction, 106; shown to have 
been a dupe, 113 ; makes his de- 
fence, 115; is disgraced by the 
King, 120 ; his end, 122. 
Royale, Madame, her imprison- 
ment, 156. 

Sainte-Beuve, quoted, 37. 

Segur, the Count of, quoted, 45. 

States-General, convoked at Ver- 
sailles, 183; the ceremonies of 
the assembling, 185 ; the opening 
session, 188 et seq. 

Taine, quotation from, 3, 7. 

Talleyrand, quoted, 9. 

Tennis Court, the oath of the, 205. 



Tippoo Sahib, embassy of, to 
France, 197. 

Trianon, the Little, the theatre of, 
52; Marie Antoinette on the stage 
of, 53 et seq.; the Queen's last 
visit to, 246 ; the fate of, 271. 

Versailles, the court theatre at, 2 ; 
the pomp of, described by Cha- 
teaubriand, 3; localities of the 
scenes of October 6, 258 et seq. ; 
palace of, entered by the mob, 
261 ; decadence of, 270 ; Pius VII. 
at, in 1805, 272; palaces of, re- 
stored by Napoleon, 273; visit of, 
with Marie Louise to, 274; visits 
of Louis XVIII., Charles X., and 
Louis Philippe to, 275 et seq.; 
during the Commune, 289; Na- 
poleon III. and Eugenie's visit to, 
278 ; visit of Queen Victoria and 
Prince Albert to, 283; Emperor 
William crowned in the palace 
of, 285; Museum, creation of, 
276. 

Vigee-Lebrun, Madame, her picture 
of Marie Antoinette, 128. 

Villette, Retaux de, arrest of, 103 ; 
confesses his part in the affair of 
the diamond necklace, 113. 



The First American Edition 



MEMOIRS OF 

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE 

By LOUIS ANTOINE FAUVELET DE BOURRIENNE 

His Private Secretary 
"With 34 Full-page Portraits and Other Illustrations 

Edited by Col. R. W. PHIPPS. New and Revised Edition 



The Set, 4 Vols., 12mo, Cloth, in a Box, $5.00 

Characteristic bindings in Half Morocco and Half Calf, specially designed 

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The Set, 4 Vols., in a box, Half Morocco, gilt top, . . . $8.00 
" " " Half Calf, " ... 10.00 



CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers 
NEW YORK 



FOR sixty years Bourrienne's "Memoirs of Napoleon" 
has been a standard authority to which every one 
has turned for a graphic, entertaining picture of 
the man as he appeared to his intimate friend and Secre- 
tary. Bourrienne, who had been the friend and com- 
panion of Napoleon at school, became his Secretary in 
1797 and remained in this confidential position till 1802. 
His " Memoirs " has heretofore been accessible only in 
the English editions. It is now proposed to publish 
immediately in a popular Library Edition, in four i2mo 
volumes, an exact reprint of the latest English edition. 
This American edition will contain the thirty-four por- 
traits and other illustrations of the original, together with 
all the other features that give distinction to the work — 
the chronology of Napoleon's life, the prefaces to the 



B O URRIENNE'S ' 'NA P OLE ON, ' 



several editions, the author's introduction, and the addi- 
tional matter which supplements Bourrienne's work, an 
account of the important events of the Hundred Days, 
of Napoleon's surrender to the English, and of his resi- 
dence and death at St. Helena, with anecdotes and illus- 
trative extracts from contemporary Memoirs. The per- 
sonality of one of the greatest figures in history is placed 
before the reader with remarkable fidelity and dramatic 
power by one who was the Emperor's confidant and the 
sharer of his thoughts and fortunes. The picture of the 
man Napoleon is of fascinating interest. Besides this, 
the book is full of the most interesting anecdotes, bon 
mots, character sketches, dramatic incidents, and the 
gossip of court and camp at one of the most stirring 
epochs of history, taken from contemporary Memoirs ar 
incorporated in the work by the editors of the different 
editions. 



List of Portraits, Etc, 



NAPOLEON I. 
LETITIA RAMOLINO 
THE EMPRESS JOSEPH- 
INE 
EUGENE BEAUHARNAIS 
GENERAL KL^BER 
MAr;SHAL LANNES 
TALLEYRAND 
GENERAL DUROC 
MURAT, KING OF NAPLES 
GENERAL DESAIX 
GENERAL MDREAU 
HORTENSE BEAUHAR- 
NAIS 
THE EMPRESS JOSEPH- 
INE 
NAPOLEON I. 



THE DUG D'ENGHIEN 

GENERAL PICHEGRU 

MARSHAL NEY 

CAULAINCOURT, DUKE 
OF VICENZA 

MARSHAL DAVOUST 

CHARGE OF THE CUIR- 
ASSIERS AT EYLAU 

GENERAL JUNOT 

MARSHAL SOULT 

THE EMPRESS MARIA 
LOUISA 

GENERAL LASALLE 

COLORED MAP SHOW- 
ING NAPOLEON'S DO- 
MINION 

THE EMPRESS MARIA 
LOUISA 



MARSHAL MASSENA 
MARSHAL MACDONA' .* 

FAC-SIMILEOFTHE EP.i- 
PEROR'S ABDICATION 
IN 1814 

NAPOLEON I. 

MARSHAL SOUCHET 

THE DUKE OF WELLING- 
TON 

PLANS OF BATTLE OF 
WATERLOO 

MARSHAL BLUCHER 

MARSHAL GOUVION ST. 

CYR 
MARSHAL NEY 
THE KING OF ROME 
GENERAL BESSIERES 



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